by Emma Belmont
“‘They quaffed away at the best the cellar could afford,’” Mac muttered.
“Burns,” said Voight, without looking up from where he was making notes on the tablet.
But the phrase reminded Maris of something. “Charlie Gorian was bringing a bottle of wine to Dominic as a gift,” she said, making all heads turn to her. “He’s a guest at the B&B and Rosamel and I ran into him in the tasting room where he was waiting for his meeting.” She nodded at the wine glasses. “That might account for at least two of the glasses.”
“Interesting,” Mac said, standing and glancing around in all directions. “Bringing a gift? I don’t see an open bottle.”
Like him, everyone else swiveled their heads around, except for the coroner, who was hard at work.
“But it might be anywhere,” said the younger of the two women. “With all these bottles…”
“It was old and dusty,” Maris said, “a 1947 vintage.”
But the investigator only shrugged. “We’d still need to find it among all these, where dust isn’t exactly in short supply.”
The sheriff looked at Maris. “This guest of yours, Gorian, is he still here?”
Maris saw her opportunity. “I don’t know but I can go back up to the winery and check.” She turned to leave.
“I’ll go with you,” Mac said. He turned to the older of the two investigators. “Do you have some fingerprint cards and a pad that I can borrow?”
“Sure,” the woman said, and she went to a bright orange tackle box and opened it. Maris watched, wondering if she was purposefully moving at a glacial speed. Finally the investigator handed the materials to Mac. Again, Maris made to leave, but he paused next to the coroner.
“When forensics is done,” the sheriff said, “you’re free to remove the body.”
Voight didn’t look up from his tablet. “I know.”
6
Once they were in the long corridor, Maris took the lead, heading up to the front of the winery at a good clip while trying not to draw attention to that fact.
“Don’t mind Voight,” Mac told her. “That’s just his way.”
“The way of rudeness?” she said. “I think he’s mastered it.”
Mac laughed a little. “He’s all about the job. Super focused. It’s part of what makes him good at what he does.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” she said.
Up ahead, light spilled in from the entrance to the main corridor. The tightness in Maris’s chest began to ease and she took a deep breath. She slowed down her pace as well.
“Do you know where Rosamel Alegra and Charlie Gorian are?” Mac asked.
“If he’s anywhere, I imagine Charlie is in the tasting room,” Maris said, considering for a moment. “Rosamel… I’m afraid she was in a bit of shock. She may have gone home.” Except that it was harvest time, and the head vintner was dead. “Or not.” As they exited the main corridor into the wide lobby that bordered the tasting room, Maris said, “Let’s ask one of the staff.” They went to the counter where a receptionist in the standard button-down shirt waited.
The sheriff took the lead. “Can you tell me where I can find Rosamel Alegra?”
The young woman—who might have been Alegra’s age—grimaced a little. “I think she’s in Mr. Alegra’s office.” She paused and then added, “Is it true? Is he dead?”
Mac exchanged a look with Maris, then turned back to the receptionist. “Yes. I’m afraid he is.” He glanced at the various doors that branched off from the lobby. “Where is Mr. Alegra’s office?”
She pointed to the one at the far end. “Through there, first door on the right.”
“Thank you,” Mac said.
Rosamel had gone to her father’s office, Maris thought. Had she already taken the helm?
Behind the door that was marked off-limits to the general public, they found a set of offices that was nothing short of stupendous. The wide wood paneled corridor led to several workspaces but the first was magnificent. Through the open door they could see that the entire far wall was glass, with a view of the spreading vineyard almost as far as the eye could see. The big room even had its own patio, with a table flanked by two rows of chairs. Rosamel sat in one of them, at the end of the table with a box of tissues.
She looked up as Maris and Mac entered, her eyes, red and puffy, focused on the sheriff. As they passed through the office to the patio, Maris noted the enormous roll top desk and the framed set of gold medals that hung above it. A bookcase next to it was full of binders, with the spines labelled with dates. The sideboard on the far wall was stocked with bottles of wine, glasses, corkscrews, and napkins. Casual leather chairs clustered around a low brass table. The vintner’s office was the size of a small apartment.
As they exited through the sliding glass door to the patio, Rosamel stood.
“Ms. Alegra?” Mac asked.
“Yes,” she said.
He extended his hand. “Sheriff McKenna. Please accept my condolences on your loss.”
Although she shook his hand, she looked at Maris. “Then…he really is dead.”
So Rosamel had yet to come to terms with the fact that her father was dead, let alone take control of the business.
Maris nodded and gave her a sympathetic look. “Yes, Rosamel. I’m afraid it’s true.”
The shorter woman released Mac’s hand and sat down hard. “Oh god,” she muttered. Although Maris thought she might burst into tears again, she only hung her head, shaking it. “I can’t believe it.”
“Ms. Alegra,” Mac said pulling up a chair for Maris. “I’m afraid I’ve got to ask you some questions.” Maris took a seat as Mac fetched a chair for himself. “I know it’s a difficult time, but the sooner, the better.”
The young woman lifted her head and straightened her back. “Of course,” she said, with some resolve in her voice. “I agree. The sooner, the better.”
Mac sat down and took the notepad from his shirt pocket. “Your father, Dominic Alegra, was the owner of the winery. Is that true?”
“Was,” Rosamel whispered. Then she focused on Mac. “Yes, he owned and operated it.”
“And when you say operate you mean…”
“He was the vintner,” she said, glancing at his office through the glass. “He was responsible for…” She shrugged a little. “Well, for making the wine.” She looked back to the sheriff. “He picks the time for harvest based on the grapes’ acidity and sweetness. He adds the yeast and sugar to start the fermentation. He decides on the barrels and when the wine is ready for them. He makes the decision on when to bottle.” She shook her head as her expression became bleak. “There’s just so much,” she muttered.
“And your job?” the sheriff prompted.
She tried to smile, but not too successfully. “The non-winemaking.” She gestured to the rows of vines. “Taking care of the vineyard, staffing, equipment, marketing…and stuff like that.”
“That’s quite a lot,” Maris said.
Rosamel shrugged. “I started in the tasting room, like everyone else. That was ten years ago.”
Mac nodded, as he finished jotting down a note. “Was your father on good terms with everyone here?”
“Everyone,” she said quickly. “Everyone loved him.” She smiled a little. “He pretended to be a curmudgeon but everyone saw through that.” She tilted her head at the winery. “Ask around.”
“I’ll do that,” Mac said. “And your relationship with him?”
Her eyes teared up. “I adored him,” she declared, as her lower lip began to tremble. “He was all I had. He was everything.”
Maris brought the box of tissues closer and Rosamel took one, putting it to her already red nose.
“Is there anyone,” Mac said, “who might have wanted him dead? Anyone at all that you can think of?”
She shook her head, and sniffed. “Absolutely no one.” She paused and looked at him. “So, he was…killed?”
Mac nodded. “It definitely looks that way.�
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The young woman shut her eyes as though she had a sudden headache. “Gods. Who would want to do such a thing?”
“At this time of year,” Maris said, “at the harvest, it seems as though there are a lot of people at the winery.”
Rosamel blew her nose and nodded. “They’re everywhere. It’s controlled chaos—barely.”
“Who would have reason to be in the cellars?” Mac asked.
“No one,” she said. “Not really. Not yet anyway. Only the vintner.”
“All right,” Mac said. “Who would have had access?”
The young woman took a deep breath and blew it out. “Everyone. We don’t keep the doors inside the winery locked. People are always coming and going.”
“Are most of them familiar to you?” Maris asked. “As in return volunteers?”
Rosamel nodded. “Yes.” She went still, and then looked at Maris. “Oh my god, I’m going to have to tell them.”
Maris gave her an understanding smile. Although the news had likely already shot through the entire facility, it was true. Rosamel would need to say something.
“I’d be glad to help you,” Maris said.
Though she appeared to think about it for a moment, she finally shook her head. “No. That’s all right. It ought to come from me.” She heaved a heavy sigh.
“Are you the head of the winery now?” Mac asked.
Rosamel blinked. “I…I guess I am. I didn’t think of it like that.”
“And I assume you inherit all your father’s assets, as well as the responsibilities?”
Though his tone had been non-comital, Rosamel bristled nonetheless. “I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, and I don’t even know the answer to your question. He set up the corporation, not me.”
“Fine,” Mac said. “There’s just one more thing.” He brought out the small fingerprint card and pad that he’d borrowed. “I’ll need to get your fingerprints.”
Rosamel’s eyes went wide. “Mine?” she said, putting a hand to her chest. “Why?”
“To eliminate them from the crime scene,” Mac said calmly. “It’s strictly pro forma. It’ll take a couple of minutes.” He put the card on the table, and opened the ink pad. “I’ll start with your right hand thumb.”
As he finished with the thumbprint, Rosamel looked at Maris. “We were together. You told him that, right? We were together all morning.”
Maris smiled at her. “Yes, of course. I’ve told the sheriff everything. Truly, this is just so the team can ignore your prints.”
Rosamel seemed to relax. “Okay,” she muttered.
They all sat in silence for the rest of the printing. When he was done, Mac took out a business card and handed it to her, along with a packaged towelette to wipe her fingers. “If there’s anything else that you might remember that you think would be relevant, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
She took the items in both hands, staring down at the card. “What’s going to happen now?”
Mac sat back, tucking his notepad away in the shirt pocket. “The coroner is going to perform an autopsy, and Cellar 14 will be off limits until the forensics team is done with it.” As he stood, so did Maris. “Again, my sincere condolences on your loss, Ms. Alegra.”
Maris looked down at the young woman, who was now gazing at the table. Her expression seemed lost. “This was his favorite spot,” Rosamel whispered. She looked out at the vineyard. “He could sit here for hours, next to the vines, with a bottle of wine, some pasta, and me.” She pushed herself away from the table and stood.
Maris touched her arm. “Would you like me to stay?”
Rosamel turned and covered Maris’s hand with her own. “No, but that’s kind of you. Thank you. I think I’d better go see the staff and volunteers.” She glanced at the table. “He would have wanted the harvest to go on.”
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Mac said.
Rosamel tucked his card into her back pocket, proceeded into the office without a backward glance, and then headed back into the winery.
As she and Mac eventually followed, Maris said, “It’s a task that I don’t envy her.”
“Nor I,” the sheriff agreed, glancing after her. “It’s a lot for such young shoulders.” After a moment, he asked, “Did you know Dominic Alegra?”
Maris shook her head as they entered the large lobby. “I’ve always dealt with Rosamel. I’d never even met him, just seen him in passing.”
Mac nodded as he came to a stop. “This Charlie Gorian, the fellow with the gift bottle. Is he still here?”
Maris paused. “Honestly, I don’t know. The last time I saw him he was going to meet Dominic.” Then an idea occurred to her. “But I know how we can tell.” She pointed outside. “His car.”
As they made their way to the parking lot, Maris relished the feel of the sun on her skin.
“You know what kind of car he drives?” Mac asked.
Maris nodded. “It’s kind of hard to miss.” She scanned the large lot. “A fire-engine red Bentley SUV.”
Mac shielded his eyes against the bright light and looked in every direction. “Nothing like that here.”
“Then hopefully he’s at the B&B,” Maris said.
The sheriff took out his keys. “I’ll meet you there.”
7
On the drive back to the B&B, Maris would normally enjoy the beautiful countryside. But today her eyes were on the rear view mirror. Mac had decided to follow her. Although he kept well back, there was always something about being followed by a law enforcement vehicle. She glanced between the mirror and the speedometer every few seconds. Normally her Type A+ personality would have had her speeding from one locale to another. But now she had to grin at herself. It was probably the safest she’d driven in a long time.
As she rounded the final curve in the coastal approach to the lighthouse, she breathed a sigh of relief. Even at this distance she could see that the bright red SUV was parked in front. Of course, she’d hate to be leading Mac on a wild goose chase but, more than that, she didn’t want to see a suspect simply disappear.
As her tires crunched over the manicured gravel of the long drive that led down to the B&B, Maris also noted that Bear’s truck was here as well. Their bigger-than-life handyman had his hands full when it came to the Victorian property. If the lighthouse wasn’t in need of maintenance, then there was usually something in the large adjacent lightkeeper’s house—which now served as the bed and breakfast—that needed his attention.
Maris never tired of driving up to her home. The many red-roofed gables of the two-story white structure were vivid and cheery. The lighthouse rose up behind it, its conical tower a matching white. The optical room at the top glittered even from this distance. Beyond both lay the azure waters of Pixie Point Bay, and the ocean beyond that. Despite the predictable good weather, the scene itself never seemed the same.
Maris parked and got out, waiting for Mac, who parked alongside her. As he got out, he eyed the red Bentley. “That’s quite the car,” he said. The dove gray leather interior trimmed in red was beautiful and Maris realized that the back seat wasn’t a bench, but two more bucket seats instead. The entire thing looked as though it’d just rolled off the factory line. The sheriff gave a low whistle. “A couple hundred grand at least.”
Maris stared at him. “I’m sorry. Did you say a couple hundred grand?”
“Oh, easy,” he said, turning away from it. He took the fingerprint kit from the passenger seat before locking the doors. “Mr. Gorian does well for himself.”
As they made their way to the front door, Maris said, “Rosamel told me that he made his fortune through wine investing. In fact, he was meeting with Dominic to make a rather large purchase.”
Mac opened the door for her. “Hence the gift of wine?”
As she preceeded him through the door, she nodded. “A gift that apparently could fetch $25,000 at auction.”
“Hmm,” Mac said, closing the door. “Maybe even a gift worth
killing for.”
She regarded the sheriff. That hadn’t occurred to her but it was true. At first glance in the cellar, it was nowhere to be seen.
“Let’s check the public rooms first,” she suggested. But a quick trip through the living and dining rooms, as well as the library, parlor, and kitchen revealed that no one was downstairs. Through the vestibule that led to the back porch, Maris could see Cookie, the B&B’s chef, in her herb garden. There was no sign of Charlie anywhere. “Upstairs we go.”
Until tonight, when two couples would be arriving, Charlie was their only guest. Unsurprisingly, his was the only door that was closed.
“If you’ll permit me?” Maris said, and Mac stood back. She knocked lightly on the door. “Charlie? It’s Maris Seaver. May I have a word?”
There was an immediate “Yes?” and then some sounds of movement and finally footsteps. Maris took a step back as the door opened. Though Charlie was wearing the same shirt and slacks, he’d obviously just thrown them on. His feet were bare and his blonde hair was rumpled, as though he’d been sleeping. Although she’d clearly woken him up, he was smiling—until he saw the sheriff.
“Maris,” the young man said. “What can I do for you?”
“Actually,” she said, “it’s not really something you can do for me. This is Daniel McKenna, the Medio County sheriff. I’m afraid we have some bad news, and a few questions.”
“Oh,” he said blinking. “Oh, okay.” He opened the door wider. “Please come in.”
As expected, the bed looked slept in, and the rest of his clothes had been tossed onto the back of the embroidered chair.
“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Gorian,” Mac said.
