Killer Among the Vines (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 7)

by Gemma Halliday

  She must have read the emotion in my eyes, as she commanded, "Now!" She inclined her head to the right. Toward the deserted vineyard. Where she'd killed Buckley.

  I did some more lip licking, feeling my mouth go suddenly dry.

  "Sheila, maybe we should just talk about this," I said, putting my hands up in a surrender motion.

  "No talking." She took another step toward me. "Just walking." She lifted the gun barrel even with my midsection.

  What else could I do? I walked. Even though I felt as if I were being marched to my doom.

  "You killed Buckley," I said, stating the obvious as I stepped off the paved patio and into the soft dewy grass of the meadow beyond.

  Sheila's voice was hard and void of any sadness I'd associated with her in the past as she answered. "You know I did. Don't play dumb now."

  If only I'd been playing. Sheila had been the one person in Buckley's life who hadn't benefited from his death in one way or another. Or so it had seemed. "Why did you do it?" I asked, genuinely curious as much as trying to stall for time.

  She scoffed. "If you'd known Bill, you'd be asking why I didn't do it sooner."

  Fair point. The more I learned about him, the more I'd realized he was far from a model citizen. But… "Something must have put you over the edge."

  "Every day I spent with him put me closer to the edge. You have no idea what I put up with. He was a bully." She paused, infusing the next word with clear anger. "And a liar."

  "Liar?" I asked. "What did he lie to you about?"

  "Everything!" she said, her voice rising.

  I glanced back at the fading lights of the winery, hoping against hope that Eddie would come back for a forgotten handkerchief or David would pick that moment to come mooch a glass of wine, and someone would hear her yelling.

  "Do you know how many shifts I work a week?" she asked, shoving me forward with the butt of the gun in my ribs.

  I winced. Not from physical pain but from the menace of the object, having seen firsthand what it was capable of.

  "Do you know how many hours I work?" she went on. "Every dang week?"

  I shook my head. "No," I answered, hating how shaky my voice sounded.

  "Sixty. I pull three doubles. Making minimum wage and crap tips from jerks who call me sweetheart and honey and complain about runny eggs."

  "Sounds terrible," I said, trying at sympathy.

  "What would you know about terrible?" she spat back. "In your posh winery drinking your fancy merlot."

  I hesitated to point out that there was nothing fancy about merlot, and my "posh" winery was actually going under.

  "I still don't understand why you killed Buckley," I said instead.

  "I told you," she hissed, marching me farther along a row of vines toward the crest of the hill. "He lied to me."

  And finally it clicked. "About money."

  "Yes, about money. I thought we were broke. That we had nothing. He let me work my butt off while he sat around 'looking for work' for months." She made air quotes with her hands, the gun momentarily leaving my personal space as it waved in the air.

  I stopped walking, but before I could do any more to capitalize on the momentary reprieve from the weapon, the gun was staring me back in the face again.

  "And all the while," she continued, "it turns out he was sitting on a mountain of cash."

  "The bribery money," I guessed.

  She nodded.

  "So he did lie about having spent it all," I continued. "Not just to IA but to you as well."

  More nodding.

  "But if he had thousands of dollars, why didn't he use it to…"

  "To give Jamie and me a better life? Move us out of squalor at Shady Meadows? Help me quit my soul-sucking job?" Sheila asked, not without a modicum of sarcasm lacing her voice. "Yeah, I asked him those questions too. He said he couldn't spend it without getting caught. That the police were still watching him. Liar and a coward."

  The irony. He was sitting on a hundred thousand dollars he couldn't spend.

  "Surely he could have used just a little to make your lives better?"

  "Right?!" Sheila threw her hands up, the gun momentarily leaving my person again. "That's what I said. But no. He was selfish. Selfish and mean." Her eyes narrowed, and the gun swooped back into my orbit, freezing any thoughts of escape. "He said he couldn't spend any of it without the police getting wind and realizing he'd lied. He'd be facing criminal charges for sure then."

  "How did you find out he'd been hiding the money?" I asked, trying to keep her talking.

  "Jamie told me."

  "Jamie?" I asked, pieces staring to fall into place.

  She nodded. "He overheard some fight. Between Bill and his former partner."

  "Eckhart," I supplied. The argument Jamie had told me about. He hadn't been making it up. He had, however, left out some key details about what he'd heard that day. "Are you saying Eckhart knew Bill had the money still?"

  She nodded. "Eckhart knew all about it. In fact, Bill said he was in on it from the beginning."

  I blinked at her, processing this. "Wait—Eckhart was taking bribes too?"

  "Surprise, honey. Cops aren't always the good guys." She gave me a wry smile. "They were both taking cash to look the other way, but when Bill got caught, Eckhart paid him to take the fall for them both."

  I shook my head, trying to wrap my brain around this. "Why wouldn't Katy Kline have said something?" I asked. "I mean, Buckley sold her out. Why didn't she roll on Eckhart?"

  Sheila shrugged. "Maybe she didn't know. Bill said he was the muscle but the idea had all been Eckhart's."

  "Bill confessed all of this to you?"

  The corners of Sheila's mouth turned up in a sinister grin. "Amazing what one will admit to when staring down the barrel of a gun."

  I swallowed hard, not having to stretch my imagination much for that one.

  "But all of this took place two years ago," I pointed out. "What was Eckhart arguing with Buckley about two weeks ago?"

  Sheila shook her head, scoffing. "Money. Bill wanted more of it for his continued silence."

  "He was blackmailing Eckhart," I said, putting it together. It made sense. He'd been blackmailing Katy Kline and James Atherton. Why not his former partner too?

  Sheila nodded confirmation. "Bill told me he was sure he could make Eckhart pay up. That he'd take care of me from now on. He'd make up for the past." She shook her head.

  "You didn't believe him?" I asked, taking a small step backwards, feeling my back come up against a tall oak tree as I tried to put any distance I could between the gun and me.

  She shook her head again. "Why should I believe him? He'd already lied to me for years." She grinned. "Besides—why settle for him 'taking care of me' when I could have it all?"

  "It all being the bribery money. He told you where it was?"

  She nodded slowly. "He had it all in cryptocurrency."

  And here Ava and I had thought Cayman Islands was too sophisticated. Appeared I'd underestimated Buckley. Or Charlie's Angels had to catch up to the times. "You mean like Bitcoin?" I asked.

  More nodding. "It was all easily accessible on an app on his phone."

  Which is why Buckley'd had his phone out when he'd been killed. He hadn't been calling for help. He'd been forced at gunpoint to access his cryptocurrency account.

  "I'm guessing the money is now in your cryptocurrency account."

  Sheila grinned. "Bill couldn't spend money without coming under scrutiny. But who's gonna pay attention to me?"

  "You were the one who tripped the security system here that night," I said.

  "I wanted answers. Real answers, not that bull he spun me at home."

  I looked at the rifle in her hands. "So you bought a gun?"

  "Borrowed. Bill's pal Eckhart is a hunter. Did you know that?"

  Actually, I did. I glanced down at the rifle. "This is Eckhart's gun?" At least I'd been on the right track about one thing.

  "Yeah. Turn
s out, he's also a really deep sleeper, and he doesn't lock his bathroom windows at night." She shook her head, that sinister grin on her face again. "Way too trusting."

  "You stole Eckhart's gun," I said, following her plot, "because you knew even if it led the police back to him, he wouldn't incriminate himself by telling them about the money."

  Her spreading grin confirmed I was on the right track.

  "You went where you knew Buckley would be alone, at night, in the dark. You convinced him to tell you everything. Then you killed him."

  "Then all I had to do was wait until this all blew over, and Jamie and I could go start a new life somewhere else. A better life."

  "With Buckley's money."

  "With my money! He owed it to me!" she shouted back. "I put up with that man for two years! I earned every penny of it!"

  While one could argue that point, I didn't intend to. Not with the gun still pointed at me. I glanced back at the winery, hoping against hope to see any sign of life. Unfortunately the only lights shining in the window were the ones I'd turned on before stupidly walking out the door to approach Sheila alone. The winery was deserted. The vineyard still. Not even a crow or squirrel in sight to witness my confrontation with a murderess.

  "It was a perfect plan," Sheila went on. "With just one little snag." She leveled me with a hard stare.

  Oh boy. "Which was?"

  She narrowed her eyes at me. "You. I don't know what your deal was, but you just couldn't leave us alone."

  I licked my lips. "I-I honestly had no idea," I tried to tell her.

  "Sure. You just happen to come by the apartment asking all kinds of questions. About Bill. About money. About where I was the night Bill died."

  Actually, I'd been asking where Jamie had been, but in hindsight I could see how Sheila's answer had failed to give her an alibi as well. I really wished I'd noticed that sooner. "We were just offering our condolences," I said.

  "Then," she went on, "you show up at Jamie's work, harassing him."

  "We were just having lunch."

  "And today? What exactly where you 'just' doing when you showed up to interrogate Jamie about damaging your car, huh?"

  She had me there. "Were you the one who tampered with my brakes?"

  She frowned. "Why would I tamper with your brakes?"

  "Why do you have me at gunpoint?" I countered.

  Her eyes narrowed again. "You ask way too many questions."

  In that moment I had to agree with her. I pursed my lips shut, watching as she took a purposeful step toward me.

  "I'm tired of all the questions. And I'm tired of you." She raised the gun barrel flush with my belly. "It's time for the nosey vintner to go."

  I swallowed down fear, trying not to panic. "You don't have to do this."

  "No?" She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I think I do. You know way too much."

  Little did she know, I'd been clueless when she'd shown up. "You won't get away with this," I said, not totally believing that statement myself.

  "Maybe not." She shrugged. Then a hard look hit her eyes. "But it's worth a try. What have I got to lose? A crappy apartment and a job that's slowly killing me?"

  "What about Jamie?" I asked, my eyes scanning the vineyard behind her again for any means of escape. I thought I saw some movement to our right, but as the wind kicked up, I realized it must just be the rustling of the leaves.

  "Who do you think I'm doing this for?" Sheila shouted, suddenly losing her cool demeanor again. "I have to get Jamie out of here. Out of this life. He deserved something better. Bill could have given us that." She sneered, shaking her head. "But he was too selfish."

  "This isn't the way to do it," I said, desperate for anything I could say to calm her. Stall her. Appeal to any sense of humanity she might have left.

  "No?" she mocked. "Well, I think it's the perfect way to do it."

  She took another step toward me. Lips set in a grim line. All talking done now. Her eyes were cold and angry, as if picturing Buckley standing in front of her, having cheated her of the life she felt she deserved.

  My breath stopped. My heart clenched.

  And the leaves to my right rustled again.

  Louder.

  I sucked in a breath, my eyes shooting to the vines just behind Sheila.

  She must have heard it too, as she spun as if on instinct.

  But her instincts were a moment too late, as a bottle of 1997 Petite Sirah came crashing down on her head with a dull, painful sounding thud. She made a sort of strangled noise in the back of her throat before crumpling into a pile on the soft earth at my feet.

  I let out a long breath, panic flowing from my heart out through my fingertips as I took in the person attached to the bottle of wine.

  David Allen.

  His breath was coming hard, his eyes wide as he stared down at the prone form of my would-be killer.

  "Geez, Emmy. You really know how to make friends," he joked.

  I would have agreed, but in that moment all I had energy for was to collapse into a puddle against the oak tree beside me and burst into tears.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Emergency vehicles lit up the night sky, red and blue lights strobing across the vineyard. The sounds of crackling walkie-talkies and wailing sirens filled the air as the fields filled with men and women in police uniforms. And I sat shivering on a wrought iron chair on the patio, watching it all unfold.

  "You okay?" David asked, occupying the chair beside me. Both of us had been mostly silent as we'd called 9-1-1 and waited for help to arrive. EMTs had been first on the scene, strapping Sheila to a gurney and wheeling her away. I was pretty sure her final destination would be jail, but I was glad to see she'd just been unconscious and not the second body in my vineyard that week.

  "Yeah, I'm good," I told him.

  "You're shaking," he countered.

  I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stave off the chill. "I'm just a little cold."

  "We could go inside," he offered.

  I shook my head. "I'm fine." Truth was, it would take me a long time to be anything close to fine after having a rifle pointed at me, but something in me couldn't pry my eyes from the scene.

  "He'll be here soon."

  I turned to David. "He?"

  "Grant. You're waiting for him to show up, aren't you?"

  I licked my lips. Until David had voiced the thought out loud, I hadn't been sure, but I nodded.

  "He'll be here." David put an arm around my shoulders. "He's into you, kid."

  A laugh escaped me. "Thanks."

  "Sure. Besides, it's kind of a crime scene here, and we both know that's his jam."

  A longer laugh escaped me. "Oh, the lengths a girl will go to to get noticed by a guy."

  "It's pathetic, really," David joked. "You poor, desperate thing."

  We were silent a moment before I turned to him. "Hey, David?"

  "Yeah."

  "Thanks for coming by to mooch my wine tonight." His timing could not have been better. As I'd heard him tell the first responding officer on the scene, he'd walked into the tasting room just in time to see Sheila and me crossing the meadow. From that angle, he hadn't seen the rifle in her hands, or he said he would have followed us sooner. But he had thought it odd enough that after a few minutes, he'd picked up the only thing that felt handy as a weapon—the bottle of wine I'd left on the counter—and walked out into the vineyard to see where we'd gone. That's when he'd come upon Sheila and me, just in time to hear the tail end of her confession, where she made it clear what her intentions toward me were.

  Something I would be eternally grateful for. Even if my Sirah was now considered evidence.

  David chuckled. "Anytime, Ems." He paused. "But I actually came by tonight to give you something."

  "Oh?" I asked. "A present?"

  "Something like that."

  For some reason my mind flitted to the portrait he'd painted. "What is it?"

  But he shook his head, his eyes cutti
ng to the tasting room door. "It will keep. Looks like your knight in shining armor is here."

  I followed the line of his gaze to find Grant standing in the doorway, a stoic look of concern on his chiseled features.

  Before I could do more than relish the relief that washed over me, he had crossed the patio and was at my side. "Are you okay?" he asked, the urgency in his voice betraying how much the answer meant to him.

  I felt tears back up in my throat and nodded. "Yeah. I'm good. Thanks to David." I nodded to my companion, who was rising from his seat.

  "Just good timing is all," David said, playing at modesty. He looked from Grant to me. "I'm gonna go inside and call Ava."

  Grant and David did a manly nod thing, silently acknowledging each other's presence, before David disappeared inside the tasting room.

  As soon as he was gone, Grant turned to me. "Are you really okay?"

  I grinned, even though I felt those tears backing up so far they leaked right over my eyelids. "Yeah. Almost."

  He reached down and pulled me into his arms, the warmth of his embrace washing over me like a comforting blanket. I leaned my cheek against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against my skin, and inhaled deeply the subtle woodsy scent of his aftershave. I never wanted to move.

  I wasn't sure how long he held me there, but by the time we finally stepped apart, the tears had subsided, and I'd almost stopped shaking.

  "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked softly.

  "I can try," I said. Then I quickly filled him in on Sheila's confession, how Buckley had lied about the bribery money, and Eckhart's role in it all. "I'm sorry," I ended with. "I know he was your friend."

  Grant inhaled deeply, nodding. "Well, like you said, I guess we don't always know people as well as we think."

  "Sheila had planned to frame him by using his rifle."

  "I suppose you were right about that one, huh?" he conceded, giving me a lopsided grin.

  "So not all my theories are cockamamie, are they?"

  He laughed. "No. Not all of them." He reached a hand out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture simple but more intimate than I'd felt from him in a while. "Accept my apology for that one?"

  "Did I miss the actual apology?" I teased.

  That lopsided grin appeared again. "I'm sorry I didn't take you seriously. I humbly apologize."