by Emma Belmont
“It really is,” she agreed.
Mac opened the manila folder. “The coroner has confirmed what he observed on the scene. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head killed Dominic Alegra.” He handed the report to her. “Very likely caused by a wine bottle, given the curvature of the skull fragments.”
The various facts on the sheet of paper included a likely radius for the bottle. But other than that figure, they did little to add to what they already knew. She shook her head. “Unfortunately, there must be thousands of bottles in that cellar.” She handed back the report.
Mac took it and nodded as he said, “The murder weapon could even have been that expensive gift that Charlie Gorian brought.”
She recalled the previous evening, and how the young wine investor had led them through the wine tasting, finishing with the rare Bordeaux. There was something about the old bottle of wine…something that was relevant.
Mac leafed through the other paperwork. “The crime scene investigators also tested the wine that was spattered across the floor.”
Though she’d been trying to figure out what was important about the old bottle of wine, she came back to the moment. “Spattered? Do you mean spilled?”
He handed her a photo of the floor. “No. It’s spattered. You see the pattern, how it becomes a fine spray at the edge.” She did indeed see the roughly oblong pattern of dots. “If it’d been spilled, there’d have been something more like a puddle.” He took out another sheet that looked like a chemical analysis. “The spattered wine was mixed with Dominic Alegra’s saliva.”
“His saliva?” Maris asked. “He had that wine in his mouth?” She tried to imagine the scene. “If he’d been hit in the back of the head while he was drinking, would that do it?”
“It’s near where he fell,” Mac said. “So it’s possible. And of course he had traces of wine in his mouth and stomach, though they haven’t identified which wine.”
He put the paperwork away. “I’m still waiting on the fingerprints but it seems like we’ll have at least Dominic’s, Charlie Gorian’s, and now both of the Krone’s.” He glanced back at the winery. “Father and son. Neither of them is telling the truth, or they’re hiding something, or both.” He closed the folder over. “But fingerprinting every bottle in that cellar isn’t going to fly. It’d be like finding a needle in a needle factory.”
Maris suddenly remembered what Charlie had said when they’d been tasting the Bordeaux.
“Hold on,” she said. “As far as I know, the wine bottles don’t get moved much, if at all. We’d have to check with Rosamel on that. But apparently some sort of sediment settles in older bottles. When you move them around, the sediment moves around too.”
Mac narrowed his eyes. “So if one of the bottles down there had been used as the murder weapon,” he said, “it’d have sediment particles floating in it.”
“We’d have to check with Rosamel, but yes, I think that’s the case.”
Mac nodded. “It’s a long shot but what do we have to lose. I’m going to see if the CSI team can use that information.” He regarded her. “That’s good thinking.” Then he grinned. “‘I have surrounded myself with very smart people.’”
“Thanks,” she said as she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “More Robert Burns?”
With an impish smile, he shook his head. “Dolly Parton.” He stood up. “I’m going to have to call that in ASAP.” He extended his hand to her and helped her to stand. His touch lingered just a fraction of a second too long before he let her hand go. “We’re going to be fighting time on it.”
“I completely understand,” she said, despite being disappointed their time together was ending. “I’ve got to get back to the B&B.”
“All right,” he said, as they both headed to the parking lot. He took out his phone. “I’ll let you know if we come up with anything.”
As he stopped next to the sheriff’s SUV, he gave her a smile and a wave. She did the same before going back to her car.
21
Back at the B&B, once the chores were done, Maris and Cookie headed toward the back of the house and their rooms. Since the public areas didn’t have to be cleaned every day, this morning’s duties had been a little lighter.
“I think I’ll change and then see how the little plantlings are doing before the greenhouse gets warm,” Cookie said.
“Sounds like a plan,” Maris said. “You gotta watch those kids.”
Cookie chuckled. “Don’t want them to get out of hand.” She paused where they parted ways. “How about you?”
“I think I’ll tidy my room,” Maris lied. “Maybe wrangle a few dust bunnies.”
The chef nodded. “Don’t want them to get out of hand either.” With that, they went to their rooms and closed the doors.
Mojo was lounging on the bed, looking his usual relaxed and content self. He wasn’t one to always seek out attention, but Maris adored the fact that, when he got it, he was always pleased. As she stroked the soft fur at the sides of his face using both her hands, his big orange eyes looked up at her.
“Ready for another visit?”
Though she might eventually chase down some dust balls, she had other priorities at the moment. Encouraged by her ability to descend into the cellars at Alegra Winery, she felt more than up to the challenge of the basement today.
As if in answer to her question, Mojo jumped from the bed and went to the utility room door at the back of her bedroom.
She smiled as she took the large black skeleton key from the hook next to the bedroom door. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Nose to the door, he answered with his signature meow. When she opened it, he trotted directly to the hatch in the floor that led down to the basement. He sat down on it, right next to the lock.
“You’re really ready today,” she said to him as she slid the large metal key into the clunky mechanism and turned it. Despite feeling upbeat about doing better with her mild claustrophobia, the sound of the heavy metal gears sent a small shiver down her spine.
“You’re on a roll,” she muttered. “Don’t stop now.”
Finally the key turned freely and she grasped the handle. She glanced at Mojo who hadn’t moved. “You’re about to go for a ride if you don’t get off.” But in response he only stared at her hand on the handle. “Suit yourself.”
Slowly, she lifted the hatch. Though Mojo sat still for a moment or two, he quickly leapt down to the floor and peered into the darkness below. As soon as there was room to maneuver, he zoomed down the stairs. Maris pushed the hatch open and rested it on the floor.
Despite feeling pretty confident when she’d come in, the view down the dark stairs gave her pause. If only she had the same great nighttime vision that Mojo had. Compared to the basement, the cellar at Alegra had been well lit.
“That’s it,” she said. Maybe she just needed more light.
She went down the few steps that it took to reach below the floor and flipped on the light switch. When the long fluorescent lights came on, it was better—and more familiar each time. Along the left wall was the diagonal bookcase that paralleled the stairs. The soft sheen of the leather spines tempted her to pause and look through the antique books that Glenda had collected. Though she’d found some interesting information on magic in them—and they had always been worth her time—today she had a different goal in mind.
She took another few steps down.
More bookcases down below were filled with piles of magazines as well as more books, mostly cloth hardbacks. An antique chest of drawers sat against the wall, topped with an old leather suitcase covered with faded stickers. Next to that was a column of hatboxes.
In her periodic exercises to go further and further down the stairs, she’d already made it to the floor once and even rescued a toppling hat box. This time, she needed to venture even further. But as she forced herself to slowly take the last few steps, she realized it was different from the winery. In the wine cellar, she hadn’t been alone. She�
�d also been distracted by conversation, not to mention Mac. Here, all she had were her own thoughts.
“I’m thinking good thoughts,” she said, “positive ones. Thoughts about wide open spaces.” First one foot landed on the basement floor, then the other. “Great thoughts about exploring.” She moved toward the hat boxes. “Of finding new things.” Her gaze fell on a large plastic storage bin on the floor next to them. “Which is ironic, of course. Since this place is full of old things.”
She knew what she was doing. It was the verbal equivalent of whistling past the graveyard. She was going to talk herself into being brave, even as the familiar tightening in her chest wound up.
“Who knows, maybe I’ll even find the green pendulum.”
It’d been the original reason she’d come down here in the first place. Conspicuous by its absence from Aunt Glenda’s pretty brocade box, Maris had searched high and low, inside and out, under and over. The basement had been the only place left to carry on the search. But if she were actually going to stand a chance of finding it, she’d need to spend more than three seconds at a time down here.
At that moment, Mojo came trotting back to her. He lightly scratched the storage bin.
“That looks as good a place as any,” she said to him, quickly grasping the lid. She would pull it off, look inside, put it back on, and bound back up the stairs to the first floor. It wouldn’t take more than a minute. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” She grasped the edges of the dusty lid. “If this ends up being another one of your toys, I’m going to stop opening bins and boxes.” She lifted the lid away—and could hardly believe what she saw. “Ha!” she said, putting aside the lid. “It isn’t one of your toys. It’s one of mine.” She picked up the colorful if well-worn box. “Monopoly,” she murmured.
It was the game that she had played as a kid when she’d visited the B&B. She opened the top and lifted the folded board. There was the money, the property cards, the tokens, and everything, even both dice. Although Mojo had got up on his hind legs to look over the edge, apparently nothing interested him. He didn’t jump in, look around at any of the other crates, or try to knock the hat boxes over. Instead he went back to the stairs and started up.
Maris quickly closed the game and put the lid on the storage box. “Hey,” she said, tucking the board game under her arm. “Wait for me.”
She trotted up after him. As he went into her bedroom, she closed and locked the hatch. Only when she gazed down at the closed wooden door did she realize what she’d done. Though a trickle of sweat ran down her back and she had to wipe her forehead with the back of her hand, she smiled. She’d actually distracted herself long enough to do a little investigating down there.
She was definitely making progress.
By the time she went into her room, Mojo had climbed back on the bed and sprawled comfortably. When she gave his head a scratch, he looked up at the sound of the tokens and dice rattling inside the game box.
“I’m going to put this in the parlor,” she said. “You take your nap.”
As she continued to stroke his head, his eyes dutifully shut, and she quietly slipped out.
22
As Maris headed to the parlor, she imagined guests enjoying the board game. Although this particular version was the classic type from her childhood, she knew that special editions existed. For a moment she wondered if there was one for wine regions, maybe Napa or France. She grinned a little at the thought. Instead of houses and hotels, there’d be vineyards and wineries. Alegra Winery might be a high priced property in her version of the game, while Crown might be more average.
She was about to head into the parlor, when she heard a noise from the kitchen. Cookie had said she was heading outside. Had one of the guests returned?
As she moved toward the sound, she glanced down the hallway to the front entry. There didn’t appear to be any cars in the driveway. She’d also just left Mojo in her bedroom.
Without meaning to be sneaky, she tread softly and held the game still so it wouldn’t make noise. She came to a silent stop and peeked through the kitchen door.
It was Cookie—and she was trying Delia’s hot sauce on one of her homemade tortillas.
“Ahem,” Maris said, stepping in.
Cookie didn’t even flinch, let alone jump. Instead she calmly turned around, saw who it was, and took another bite. Then she nodded. “I’ve got to admit,” she said, showing Maris the bottle. “These really are wonderful.”
Maris did a double take when she looked at the hot sauce Cookie had chosen. “Delia’s Scorching Smokehouse? That’s the nuclear one!”
The older woman only shook a few more drops onto the tortilla. “I can see why it’s Eugene’s favorite.” She took a bite.
Maris was ready to run for the hose or a glass of milk or maybe even creamer, but the chef only nodded again. “Excellent balance of spice, heat, and flavor. That woman really has a talent.” She eyed what Maris was carrying. “What have you got there?”
Though Maris was still staring at the tortilla, she held the game forward. “I found this in the basement. I was thinking that maybe our guests would enjoy playing it.”
Cookie came closer for a better look. “Oh, Monopoly. Goodness, yes. I haven’t seen that for years.” She smiled at Maris. Apparently smoke wasn’t going to start pouring out of Cookie’s ears. “Do you remember playing that with Glenda?”
Maris grinned at her. “Remember? As I recall she was usually the real estate mogul left at the end.”
Cookie laughed. “She was that indeed.”
“Making loans on outrageous terms,” Maris recalled.
“Ugh,” Cookie said, rolling her eyes. “You had to take out the trash for a week.”
“And you had to make caramel fudge brownies,” Maris replied. “My favorite—and hers too.”
“The woman was positively ruthless,” the chef said, smiling.
Maris gazed down at the game. It felt good to remember Glenda like this. Nor was it hard to picture her because, now that Maris was older, she was almost her spitting image. The trip to the basement had been well worth braving the confined space. Then she remembered her idea.
“I was just thinking that a winery version of it would be fun. Maybe have vineyards and wineries, instead of houses and hotels. And the tokens might be grapes or bottles or wine glasses.”
“Or a corkscrew,” Cookie suggested, “or maybe a barrel.”
“Now you’re talking,” Maris said. She looked at the box top. “I think the utilities would be the same but the railroads…”
“Maybe flower farms instead,” Cookie said.
Maris grinned at her. “I think we’re on to something here. If it doesn’t already exist, we need to make a winery version.”
“Speaking of wineries,” Cookie said, dribbling even more hot sauce on the last bit of tortilla. “I wonder how Rosamel is doing.”
Maris thought for a moment. “I didn’t see her at the winery this morning.” Then she recalled the precognitive vision she’d had of Rosamel among the vines. “Maybe I should pay another visit and check in on her.”
Cookie smiled. “I’m sure she’d appreciate that.”
“All right,” Maris said, hefting the board game. “I’ll just put this in the parlor, and make a trip to the winery.”
“I’m heading out to the greenhouse,” Cookie said. “For real this time.” She popped the tortilla in her mouth. “Good stuff,” she murmured.
23
After Maris parked in the lot, she didn’t head to the winery itself. In her brief vision, she’d seen Rosamel among the vines. Nor had she been with any volunteers or workers. So Maris struck out in a direction that seemed to match the background of the precognitive image. The land had been fairly flat, not the gently rolling terrain that bordered the back of the crushing room. The late morning sun was high and bright, casting black shadows onto the dark, rich soil. As Maris walked up the row of vines, she inhaled the earthy scent and the woody aroma of the plant
s.
Cookie would enjoy this, she thought.
The further she got from the winery, the more it seemed like she was visiting an entirely different country. She let her fingers trail along the large leaves on the vines, and also the unpicked, dark-skinned fruit. They felt like so many little pebbles, no doubt ready to burst.
At the end of the row, she stepped into a dirt lane that seemed to separate two fields of plants. She looked one way and then the other, as though she was crossing the street, and caught some movement out of the corner of her eye. It was Rosamel, in the distance. How far she’d come, Maris didn’t know, but any sound of the winery or cars on the roads had faded. Even so, rather than call out to her, Maris simply went up the lane.
As she approached, she could see that the young woman was doing something. Although she was proceeding slowly up a row of vines, she was staring down at the ground. Only when Maris reached that row did she see that the winemaker was holding a small branch. It was in the shape of a Y and she was holding it by the wide end, pointing the longest stem at the ground.
If Maris hadn’t known better, she’d say Rosamel was dowsing—searching for underground water with the stick.
“Good morning,” Maris said. With a tiny shriek, Rosamel jumped and whirled at the same time. “Sorry!” Maris held up both hands. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“Whoa,” Rosamel gasped, putting a hand to her chest. “I didn’t hear you coming.”
“I was just enjoying the quiet,” Maris said. “Next time I’ll shout.”
Rosamel patted her breastbone and smiled. “I’m not normally so easy to scare,” she said. Then realized she was holding the dowsing rod, and put it behind her back. “I guess I was…lost in thought.” She gazed at Maris, and then back at the winery in the distance. “Are you looking for me?”
“I am,” Maris said. “I just wanted to check and see how you’re doing.”
