by Emma Belmont
“Oh,” Rosamel said, sounding relieved. “That’s so nice of you. Thanks.” She relaxed and Maris saw her shoulders slump. “I guess I’m doing okay. You know, considering everything.”
“Of course,” Maris said. “I know it can’t be easy.”
Then the young woman tilted her head, and stared at Maris. “How did you know to look for me out here?”
Maris smiled and gestured around them. “You might say that I think it’s sort of a…magical setting.” She watched Rosamel for any reaction, but the young woman’s expression was guarded. “You might even say that in such a setting, it might not be too shocking for magical people to come across one another.”
“Oh?” the young woman said. Realization seemed to dawn on her face, quickly followed by astonishment. “Oh!” She brought the dowsing rod out from behind her back. “Um, yeah. I guess that wouldn’t be too shocking, would it?”
Maris smiled at her. “No, it wouldn’t, which is my roundabout answer of how I knew you’d be out here.”
Rosamel regarded her. “Huh. Very interesting.”
“Looking for water?” Maris asked, pointing to the rod.
For a moment, the young woman hesitated but then she held up the stick. “I inherited the water dowsing ability from my mother. My father had a magical tasting ability—like down to the molecule.”
“Ah,” Maris said, nodding. “That would account for the winery’s gold medals right from the start.” She gazed around at the vineyard. “And let me guess. You had a hand in selecting the site.”
Rosamel nodded. “But to give my father his due, he was a wonderful vintner. Just because you can identify a taste doesn’t mean you can create something good.” She shrugged. “But I’m sure it helped.”
“Oh, of course,” Maris quickly agreed. “All the magic in the world doesn’t help you if you don’t already have some talent.” She looked at the rod. “Are you thinking of expanding? Maybe adding more fields?”
“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. Despite the fact that they were alone and a hundred yards from anyone, Rosamel looked behind her and lowered her voice. “I’m trying to get to the bottom of this claim of Friedrich Krone’s that we’re stealing his water.”
So Maris wasn’t the only person he’d told. She wondered if he’d brought it up with Dom.
She took a step closer. “And what have you found?”
“Quite the opposite.” The young woman used the rod to point along the path to the winery. “Our winery is perfectly within its water rights. No worries there.” Then she pointed in the opposite direction. Maris realized they were looking at the stone castle of Crown Winery in the distance. “But the water table beneath Crown is definitely dwindling, very likely due to the Pixie Petal Farms on its other side.”
“So Friedrich is right, but he’s got the wrong culprit.”
“The wrong culprit?” Rosamel said, her face turning stern. “First, I would guess that they’re within their water rights too. The water tables might be linked or even the same, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re using more water as their business grows. But second, as far as a culprit, there’s only one that I can see.” She angrily shook the dowsing rod at the ground. “It looks to me like someone at Crown Winery is drilling diagonal wells to get to the water table under our property.” She pointed an accusing finger at the gray castle. “They’re the ones stealing water.”
Maris shaded her eyes with her hand, gazing in that direction. Then she turned back to Rosamel. “What do you say to paying them a visit?”
24
After parking, Maris followed a fast-walking Rosamel through the unfamiliar winery. The young woman never hesitated, as though she knew her way around. As they approached the crushing room, Maris recognized the sound of the giant machine. Crown Winery was indeed busy with its own harvest.
Workers at the conveyor belt in the back were moving quickly to remove the largest twigs and other debris before the forklift took the plastic bins of fruit to the crusher. But one young man in particular stood out, literally head and shoulders above the rest. He looked up from his work, just as Rosamel and Maris approached.
“Rosamel!” he said, as he nearly dropped the empty plastic bin he was carrying. His eyes were huge and his mouth hung open slightly. “What are you doing here?”
His deep voice was easily heard over the din, but Rosamel cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “We need to talk.” She pointed to the already harvested vines behind him.
As they moved away from the din, Maris saw Harlan glance at her. “Harlan, we haven’t been properly introduced.” She extended her hand. “I’m Maris Seaver, and I run the Pixie Point Bay Lighthouse and B&B. Rosamel was giving me a tour of her harvesting operation when I first saw you.”
Though he looked at her hand for a second, he finally took it and gave it a gentle shake. “You work with the sheriff?”
“From time to time,” she answered. “I happened to be with Rosamel when she learned of her father’s death.”
Rosamel put a hand on Maris’s shoulder. “She was with me when I went to the cellar and saw him.”
Harlan’s worried expression seemed to clear. “Oh, I see. Then you have my–”
“Uh oh,” Rosamel said.
Maris turned to see Friedrich approaching them. His face was twisted into an ugly scowl.
“What is she doing here?” he shouted, as Harlan quickly moved Rosamel behind him.
“She’s with me,” Maris said, holding up a hand. “This was my idea.”
“I don’t care whose idea it was,” the winemaker raged, his face red. He jabbed a finger in her direction. “She’s not welcome here.”
Before Harlan could stop her, Rosamel popped out from behind him. “I’ll bet I’m not,” she shouted. “But my water is.” Hands balled into fists, Friedrich stared at her, as though trying to comprehend her words. Now she pointed at him. “You heard me, water thief.” She looked up at Harlan. “Your father has been digging diagonal wells into my land.”
Harlan backed up from her, the shock plain in his face. “What?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and thrust her chin out at Friedrich. “Ask him.”
Harlan slowly turned to his father. “What’s this about?”
The older man’s lips pressed together in a thin white line and his eyes narrowed to slits. “You’d take her side?” Although Harlan looked like he was about to answer, Friedrich cut him off with a wave of his hand and glared at Rosamel. “Get out.” She looked like she wanted to say something too, but Friedrich was having none of it. “Get out!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs. “Get out!”
Maris almost had to cover her ears at the strident sound. Quickly, she went to Rosamel and grabbed her arm. Without a word, she dragged her back toward the building, and was relieved to find that the young woman hardly resisted. Although the crusher was still running, all work had stopped as everyone stared at them.
This had been a bad idea.
“Let’s go,” Maris said, and led Rosamel out of the crushing room.
It was another fast walk back to the lobby and then the parking lot, but this time Maris took the lead.
“He didn’t deny it,” Rosamel said, breathing hard. “Did you see that? He didn’t deny it. He couldn’t.”
“I saw,” Maris said, unlocking the doors on her car. “And I heard.” They both got in, Maris started the engine, and locked the doors. “The next time that I suggest we go anywhere and confront a tall, volatile man about water rights, it’s okay to say no.” She strapped on her seat belt, as Rosamel did the same.
“It was worth it, though,” the young woman said. “The look on his face made it worth it.”
As Maris backed the car out, she saw a familiar red SUV in the rear view mirror. Charlie was here. Apparently the gift of the magnums had worked.
Then she recalled the mottled red rage that had swept over Friedrich Krone’s face. Now she had to wonder about whether or not he re
ally could have killed Dom. As she imagined the tall man wielding a bottle of wine, a shiver of cold ran down her core. She quickly put the car in drive.
This really had been a bad idea.
25
By the time Maris got home, she’d managed to calm down and think things through. As she parked the car she realized it didn’t make sense. If Friedrich Krone was stealing water, then what was his motive for murder? If anything, it’d be Alegra Winery holding the grudge, not Crown.
Harlan had said nothing, not that there’d been much opportunity. But he’d said very little to Mac as well. What was he not telling them about his meeting with Dom? Did he share the same bad temper as his father? Perhaps the Krones had arranged a business deal with Charlie Gorian, acing out Rosamel now that her father was dead.
Maris shook her head. As usual, there were too many questions and not enough answers. But as she gazed out the windshield to the B&B and lighthouse rising behind it, she remembered that she had another means of investigation of which she’d yet to avail herself: the Old Girl.
With a new sense of purpose, she got out of the car and headed to the back of the property, down the side. Like all the lightkeepers before her, Maris shared a special bond with Claribel. Not only did the Old Girl hold the North American record for most boats saved, she was a magical being—the former no doubt helped by the latter.
Cookie must have finished in the greenhouse, since both it and the garden were empty. As Maris approached on the lawn, an invisible ocean breeze swirled around her, blowing her skirt and hair. As she moved her bangs from her eyes she smiled. The door to the lighthouse blew open and she stepped through.
“Good morning, Claribel,” Maris said, and turned on the light.
At this time of day, she didn’t really need the extra illumination, but it was a habit. The windows at each level of the lighthouse not only looked out on different beautiful views, they let in plenty of sun. As she climbed the spiraling, wrought iron staircase, Maris first looked out to the bay. Its pristine waters glittered like a rounded pool filled with dark sapphires. At the second level, the view was to the south, along the coast. The undulating seashore met the ocean with its own earthy hues of buff cliffs backed by verdant green hills. Finally at the third level, and just before reaching the top, the view was over the roof of the B&B. Beyond the lush hills and the town of Pixie Point Bay, the mountains with their redwood forests rose in green and purple tones. Each window’s view could have been a postcard, including looking down on the many gabled Victorian lightkeeper’s home that was now a B&B.
Breathing a little hard, Maris finally climbed up the last step onto the metal floor of the optical room. This spot was where the views all came together, and she never tired of seeing the seamless panorama. If Pixie Point Bay was magical, then this part of the coast, the Middle Kingdom, was simply enchanted. It felt as though you could see for hundreds of miles in every direction as land, sea, and sky flowed from one to another, horizon to horizon. She took a moment to catch her breath and take in the view—but just a moment. She had not come up the three story tower for the grand vista.
Instead she turned to the fresnel lens that was the all-seeing eye of the lighthouse. More like a sculpture of crystal clear glass segments mounted on a gleaming steel frame, the entire thing was taller than her with an overall egg shape. Many of the pieces of glass were etched with fine concentric circles, each of them throwing out tiny rainbow sparkles in every direction. As usual, Maris gazed into them, letting her eyes defocus and relax. She took in a slow breath and lightly blew it out, as the sparkles began to glow and then coalesce, until finally an image appeared.
It was Delia and Eugene.
“Hmm,” Maris said, watching them. Like looking through a telescope, she saw them enlarged and up close. Both were wearing aprons emblazoned with the smokehouse logo, and their round faces were smiling. From the looks of what little background could be seen, it seemed as though they might be in a kitchen. Empty and unlabeled bottles of hot sauce stood by as Eugene put a funnel to the top of one, and Delia brought over a steaming sauce pan and tipped in some of the contents. Then he moved on to the next bottle, his daughter moving with him.
Suddenly, the image winked out.
Maris blinked. Though it had been quick, it had been clear. She’d been watching the Burnsides bottling their signature, homemade hot sauce—which made her frown a little.
What did their hot sauce have to do with Dom’s murder, or even a winery? Or maybe it was more the father-daughter relationship she was supposed to focus on? She pursed her lips. Either way, staying in the lighthouse wasn’t going to tell her why Claribel had shown that to her.
She gave the glass base of the lens a gentle pat. “Thanks, Old Girl. Much appreciated, as always.”
It was time to pay the Smokehouse another visit.
26
“Maris,” Eugene said, grinning from behind the hostess stand. “It’s great to see you again so soon.” He brought out a menu and offered it to her.
She held up a hand. “I won’t be needing that today,” she said, smiling.
“A woman who knows what she wants,” Eugene said, hugging the menu to his big belly. “What can I get for you?”
On her way into town, Maris had decided to take home more hot sauces. Apart from being a good excuse for the visit, they really were excellent.
“One of each of your wonderful hot sauces,” she replied.
“Ah,” he said nodding, with a look of supreme satisfaction. “Another convert.”
“A couple, actually,” she replied. “Cookie was really impressed with the nuclear version.”
His eyes twinkled. “My favorite. And if Cookie likes it…” He pumped his fist. “That’s the kind of seal of approval we’re looking for.” He put away the menu. “One of each, it is. Delia will be thrilled. I’ll be right back.”
“Actually,” Maris said, stopping him, “if you have a minute, could I ask you a question?”
“Well, it’s my lucky day,” he said, turning back to her. “What’s on your mind?”
She glanced at the swinging metal door to the kitchen. “Do you make the sauces here?”
The older man nodded. “In fact, we do. Absolutely. Just Delia and I, right in that kitchen.”
Maris regarded him. “Just the two of you? Isn’t that a lot of work?”
He shrugged. “It is, but it’s safer that way.”
“Safer?” Maris said, thinking about what Cookie had said about not touching her eyes if she touched the hot sauce. “Do you mean from the steam, maybe?”
Eugene laughed. “Oh no. We can take the steam.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Otherwise we’d have to stay out of the kitchen.” He shook his head. “No, what I’m talking about is security.”
“Security,” she said, her brows furrowing. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Last year, we found someone on the internet trying to sell our sauces—except we’re the only ones who sell them.”
Maris thought about it. “Maybe someone who bought some here?”
Eugene shook his head. “They were shipping cases of it.”
“Cases?” Maris exclaimed. “Then what were they doing?”
The older man ran his thumbs behind his suspenders, up and down. “Counterfeiters were making fake sauce.”
“Counterfeiters? Fake sauce?” she said, sounding like an echo chamber, even to herself. But it was a little hard to imagine—particularly if Eugene and Delia were fire elementals, as Cookie had guessed. How could anyone reproduce what they did?
“It all ended fine though,” Eugene said, nodding.
“Really? How?”
“They don’t know our recipe—not that it would help them if they did.” He gave her a wink.
“So it was their own recipe with your labels on it?”
“Not exactly,” he said, scoffing. “They actually had some samples of our sauces. But they were just mixing other sa
uces together, trying to get lucky and get the same taste.” He shook his head and smiled. “They’re lucky we didn’t call the police. Just a legal letter or two and it was done.”
“Wow,” Maris said. “So they didn’t even try to cook.”
Eugene smirked. “Probably didn’t know how. They couldn’t even get the labels right.”
Suddenly she thought of the wine tasting at the B&B. She frowned a little at the memory. It had nothing to do with hot sauces. Or did it?
“I’m talking your ear off today,” Eugene said, turning to go. “Let me get that order for you.”
When he’d gone, she gave her temple a discreet tap. She looked at each of the tasting bottles in turn. But it was the final Bordeaux that held her interest. But why? She’d already alerted Mac to the sediment issue. No, it had to be something else.
Prior to the tasting she’d done a bunch of internet research and had run across many of the most expensive Bordeauxs that existed. Now she compared one in particular to one in her memory. Then she looked at the auction catalog information about it.
“Ah ha,” she muttered.
Just then Eugene returned with a little brown to-go bag. Quickly she removed her wallet, took out cash, and laid it on the podium. “Thank you, Eugene. You’ve been a huge help.”
“Always a pleasure,” he said, handing her the bag. He picked up the cash. “But–”
She was already heading out the door. “Gotta make a phone call,” she said over her shoulder. “Thanks!”
27
The dining room of the B&B was not only full, it was tense. Maris stood at the end of the table nearest the window, while Mac stood at the opposite end near the door. Seated on one side were Rosamel and Charlie. On the other were Harlan and his father. The elder Krone was already glowering at everyone, especially the sheriff. But Mac seemed not to notice.
He tossed a manila folder to the table. “The Medio County forensics team has, I’m glad to report, found a needle in a needle factory.” He smiled as he looked at each of the attendees. Then he nodded to Maris. “But I’ll get to that as soon as Maris is done.”
