The Caspian Wine Mystery/Suspense/Thriller Series

by Maggie Thom

  Maybe this’ll all disappear and I’ll wake up.

  She looked about. A bleak, dreary day greeted her along with a clear view of her mom’s casket resting over the open hole that was ready to swallow her. Bailey spun around. Her eyes lit on her car and she walked briskly toward it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A man stepped from the shadows of the trees to stand beside her Hyundai rental. She stopped and stared. His black suit was appropriate for a funeral but she didn’t remember seeing him at the gravesite. He looked as though he’d just raised his head from prayer, his feet were still shoulder width apart and his hands were clasped loosely in front of him. Why was he looking at her so expectantly and with such a foreboding expression?

  Bailey frowned as she made her way along the gravel road, her eyes never leaving his face. As she neared, she noted he wasn’t as old as she’d first thought, and he was kind of cute with a young George Clooney countenance—dark and mysterious. An unexpected shudder caused her to hesitate a few feet from the car.

  “Hello. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  She’d heard that over and over for the last few days and yet she felt that this stranger actually meant it. She watched him closely.

  “Did you know my mom?”

  He looked down, his whole body visibly tensing. A couple of heartbeats later he raised his head. “No. Not... No; I didn’t.” His sky blue eyes darkened. “I just wanted to give you my condolences.” He seemed to study her for several seconds before striding away.

  Bailey stared after him in confusion. Something had just happened that she couldn’t quite decipher. It was as though he’d made a decision that was directly related to her. She watched him climb into a dark SUV and drive away, winding his way through the maze of roads as though he knew them well.

  That hit Bailey hard. Her mom had known she was dying. Someone had paid for an elegant funeral and ceremony. Could it have been this stranger, a boyfriend she hadn’t told her about? He’s kind of young, Mom, but wow.

  For a brief second that brightened her mood. It would be a relief if her mom hadn’t been alone. Bailey sighed. But her mom hadn’t dated and she would never have considered a younger man; she’d always said he’d be eighty and too darn weak to lift his arms.

  She grabbed the car door handle. I just want to go home.

  Her mind wouldn’t stop though. Who had paid the bill? The couple with the daughter? Bailey snorted. They couldn’t have known her mom, she’d never let Bailey near dance. They’d be embarrassed when they realize the mistake they’d made.

  Bailey’s headache pounded through her skull with jackhammer precision. She pressed her fingertips against her temples. The wind whipped up, letting its presence be known as it wound its way through the trees and gravesites. Fear came from nowhere and landed with a punch to her gut and then spidered its way throughout her body. It wasn’t the noise so much as the absence of it. Someone was watching her. She knew it. It was a feeling that had served her well in the past. Looking around, she noted the rows upon rows of granite, etched with names, dates and loving memories that surrounded her. The flowers dotting the graves and the shrubs and pine trees broke up the uniformity but it was still deserted. She couldn’t help but shudder at what all that meant. For a brief second she had a vision of all the bodies rising up from the graves, with arms held forward, walking towards her.

  Then the breeze which had been like a gentle caress blew with a howling force. She staggered at the impact of it. Struggling to stand upright, she looked up. Big drops of rain hit her in the face. Heavy gray clouds encased the sky. She scrambled for the door handle. Grabbing it, she yanked it open and dove in, just as the downpour started. She sat there for several minutes staring at the bleak sight. Sheets of rain obliterated her view. Fumbling around in the unfamiliar car, she managed to get it started and then found the windshield wiper switch. She flipped it to high speed. The deluge hit her window like a waterfall. The wipers were flipping as fast as possible and still weren’t able to clear it for more than a second.

  A chill scooted down her spine like a colony of ants. Shivering, it wasn’t clear to her if it was from the cold and rain, the sense of dread that the cemetery had evoked in her, or all that she wasn’t ready to acknowledge. She eased the Hyundai forward, straining in an attempt to see through the curtain of water. Puddles the size of mini lakes formed. The poorly graveled road had turned into a child’s dream, a muck fest. Out of respect, she tried to drive slowly but the car kept losing traction. Fed up with absolutely everything, she sped up, ignoring the mud packs flung from the tires.

  As she reached the main street, she sagged over the steering wheel as she peered out at the fast moving traffic, unfazed by the poor weather. The worst part was she shouldn’t be either; this was normal weather for Victoria. Even that fleeting realization saddened her. And quick on its heels was another—had it really been home or simply a place she’d been hiding out from her mom? Shaking off those morbid thoughts, she eased onto Memorial Drive and headed east toward Deerfoot Trail.

  An hour and a half later, thanks to accidents, flooding and the odd impulse to lose an imaginary tail, she pulled up to her mom’s little blue house in Canyon Meadows in southwest Calgary. The rain had eased to a slow, mesmerizing drizzle. No thoughts, no sounds, no smells, nothing intruded on the glazed focus she had out her windshield.

  A horn honked and she jerked upright. How long had she been sitting there? A dog shot across the street, disappearing around the corner of a house. She blinked a few times as she became aware of the fogged windshield and the chill invading the car and her thin clothes. She reached for the handle. Leaning heavily against the door, she pushed it open. Exhausted beyond anything she’d ever experienced, she lifted her left hand overhead and grabbed the support. One. Two. Three. Heave.

  Awkwardly and slowly, like a person with severe arthritis, she managed to pull herself out. She wobbled a moment before she found her land legs. After opening the trunk, she pulled out her suitcase and carry-on bag.

  Out of habit, she marched to the front door and lifted her hand to knock. Her mom was always in the living room. But just before her knuckles touched the wood she realized what she was doing and her fist froze in mid-air. Jerking back, she jumped down the four steps and headed around to the side. At the gate she dropped her luggage as she reached up to play with the tricky slider lock. After a few tries she got it open. Closing but not latching it, she continued to the back of the house. She hurried to the table and wooden stool set in the middle of the lawn as the chilly air wrapped around her. In the seat closest to the house a hidden clip had been installed under the seat. Once she’d retrieved the key she made her way back to the door. Her hand shook as she shoved the key in the lock. It took several attempts to unlock it.

  She pushed her way in. The last time she’d left hit her like a locomotive. The fight she’d had with her mom flashed like a movie rerun. They were, as always, yelling at each other.

  “Don’t go, Bails. What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Not a damn thing, Mom. Like always, you want to control my every move. Well, not this time. And never again. You have meddled in my life for the last time. Bye, Mom.”

  “Bails. No!”

  Bailey walked out of the house, giving the door a heavy push. The hard slam infused her with a sense of satisfaction.

  “Don’t come back, unless you learn some damn manners first! Someone has to look after you and I’m the one who took the job. No one else was there. I’m your mother, Bails!”

  She kept walking without acknowledging her mom. Climbing into her car, she drove away.

  Her visit had been the same as always.

  Fighting.

  Yelling.

  Storming away.

  Tentatively making up.

  Moving on.

  Bailey shook her head. If she could have the last month back she would change everything. One month. How was she supposed to know that things would change so dramatically in that
time? She could have gotten her mom medical help. She could have done something.

  Two years and she could change another confrontation. She’d wanted her mom to visit but she had refused, asking, “Who’d man the store? How would I get there?” Or five years ago, when they’d argued about Bailey moving east. She hadn’t really decided where; it had just been a thought. But she had gone berserk, totally freaking out. She’d scared Bailey more than the hundred times they’d moved at night. Not moving east was another in her mom’s one hundred and one rules that hadn’t made sense.

  If she could go back fourteen years to when she'd turned fifteen, she could fix it. Everything had changed that summer and nothing either one of them had done could recover the closeness they’d once felt. This time there’d be no making up. I’m so sorry, Mom.

  Bailey felt like she went from free falling to crashing with a driving force. She dropped to the floor, tears already dripping off her face. Heavy, wracking sobs tore through her, starting in her gut and ripping outwards. Her body shook as the pain and anguish coursed through her like a hurricane barreling across the ocean to crash on land, tearing to shreds anything in its wake. She curled on her side into the smallest fetal position she could muster.

  Eventually the sound of an old style ticking clock filtered through her consciousness. Opening her gritty, burning eyes, she closed them just as quickly as the last vestiges of light bounced off the brilliantly shining floor. Bailey pushed herself up, arching her neck so she could see the wall clock. 5:40. Was it morning or evening?

  Beyond the window, it was still a dreary day with gray skies and muted light. She guessed evening. Shifting slightly, the hard surface dug into her tender hip. She groaned and then shivered as the cold linoleum penetrated her thin, damp clothing.

  Pulling herself to her feet, she grabbed a cup from the cupboard and filled it with cold tap water. The fluoride taste turned her off but she downed it anyway, hoping it would appease her empty stomach for a while. Her stomach instantly protested by knotting up, reminding her it was more of a symbol for what she was avoiding. Somehow she found the courage to look at what she had wanted to avoid, the reason she hadn’t come to the house before then.

  The city newspaper lay open on a stack of newspapers, just like always. Her mom would read a bit before rushing off to work or running errands, but she’d always return to examine them from front to back. She should be returning to read more... give her opinion on what the government was doing wrong... grumble about who was still in government.

  She’ll be back, at any moment.

  Bailey’s breath hitched and she pressed her hand to her stomach. Everything else looked the same: clean, tidy, not a thing out of place.

  But it wasn’t the same.

  She looked down at the mug in her hand—Friends are like sunshine, there for the good times and gone for the bad.

  To avoid all of this, Bailey had chosen to stay at a hotel the last two nights. Staying now wasn’t a good idea either but she didn’t have a choice. She picked up the dark red luggage splayed across the floor and made her way out of the kitchen, turning right at the living room to go down the hallway. Her feet took the route that, although not done frequently, was still familiar. Her mind remained focused on the spare bedroom and thoughts of sleep. She stepped into the room and dropped her stuff in the corner.

  Immediately, she heard her mom’s voice, ‘You have to put your stuff away. It’ll get wrinkled. There’s no one to pick up behind you. And don’t expect it. You have to do it yourself. You’re not royalty, you know.’ Even living on the streets her mom had made sure that Bailey took care of the meager belongings she had. At eighteen, when Bailey had moved away, she’d been even more adamant about it.

  Every chore since she could remember, had been followed by that statement.

  Bailey flopped backward onto the bed, her arms flung out at her side. “Ouch.” Sitting up, she pulled out the hair clip she’d carelessly put in that morning. She tossed it on the bedside stand and finger-combed her straight brown hair. She tugged on it and then winced. Something finally felt real.

  So many thoughts floated through her mind. It occurred to her that she should call one of her friends, but she wasn’t sure what she would say. She couldn’t really tell them what was going on because she’d never really talked about her family. Her mom had sworn her to secrecy about their past—where they’d lived, what kind of work her mom had done, who her dad was—which she didn’t know anyway, where she went to school, where her relatives lived, sometimes even what her real name was.

  Everything was always a damn secret. Even your death.

  Tired and wrung out, Bailey closed her eyes. Tears trickled out, ran down her face and into her hair. There’d be no more jokes between them—not that there had been many in a long time. Or ever really for that matter.

  She yawned. She knew she should get up and shed her coat, her navy blue pantsuit, her shoes... maybe change into pajamas but she didn’t have to the will that would propel her upwards. If she was lucky she’d wake up and realize this had all been a bad dream. She could call her mom and make up with her. Forgive her for being so damn obstinate. Something they definitely had in common.

  Her mom’s face with one of her rare smiles flashed through her mind. Just as quickly the vision of her lying in the casket followed. When did it end?

  Bailey’s body might have been resting but her brain wouldn’t shut down. Thoughts continued to swirl for a long time, until all that was left was exhaustion, pulling her down a deep dark hole.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The phone rang.

  Guy shifted in his seat.

  It rang again.

  He slouched against the car door.

  It rang again.

  He stared off into space, thinking he should be used to this by now but he always seemed to forget her little quirk of deciding when she’d answer.

  Then came the fourth ring. “Yes.”

  Her tone made him feel like he’d been the one keeping her waiting. “It’s her, Gramama. No mistake.”

  Silence. Hesitation. He knew she was torn. On one hand, wanting it to be true; on the other, she knew what this information would do to her family. “What’s she like? What does she know about the kidnapping? How greedy is she?” His grandmother’s voice sounded abrupt, angry.

  He blew out an exasperated breath. “I haven’t really had a chance to go through much with her. I don’t think she knows anything.”

  “What does she look like? And don’t tell me ‘just like Mama did.’ I know she’s the spitting image of my mother. Those pictures you showed me told me that. What color is her hair? Is she a real brunette or is it dyed? Her eyes? Are they green-blue? How much money does she want?”

  There was a loud whack sound. He jerked the phone away from his ear. She’d hit her cane against the cherry wood, Montclair credenza desk in her office; a bad habit he’d like her to stop. She needed the cane on occasion but used it more as a weapon or instrument to keep people in line than as the crutch it was supposed to be and sometimes he wished it would break in two and end her whacking habit.

  The desk had once been covered in a very thick layer of varnish. His grandpa had been smart enough to get it sanded and recoated twice a year, as she was just a tad hard on it—same as she was with those in her life. His grandfather had been one of the few who’d known how to handle her and make her smile while he was doing it.

  I miss you. You died too young, Gramps. Sighing, he brought himself back to the conversation as his grandmother continued, “I needed you to find her for peace of mind but you can’t bring her home until you know more about her. I will not have Gina and Daniel put on an emotional roller coaster by this woman. I will not have her come into our lives and start making demands. They don’t know any of this. It will be enough of a shock, if things work out. Find out what you can about her. I want to know if she’s going to cost me or if she is the beautiful granddaughter she would have been, if raised by her re
al mother. Understand?”

  Guy didn’t bother telling her he’d already uncovered her background. She was twenty-nine, single, had been offered a lucrative job in Toronto with her own TV show on interior decorating. She’d moved a lot in the first eighteen years of her life then a few times after that but she’d now been in the same apartment for the last five years, the longest she’d been anywhere. He hadn’t talked with any of her clients or friends because he hadn’t felt the need. His task was simple: find her, tell her and get home.

  The only piece to the puzzle he hadn’t figured out was how she came to be with Donna Saunders. That piece was still a bit murky. Over the last six months, he’d focused his time on finding her. He still wasn’t clear how his grandmother had discovered the west coast newspaper article on how Bailey had helped a needy family remodel their home. His grandmother had given him only enough facts to pique his curiosity.

  “Understand?”

  “Yes Gramere. I understand.”

  “Don’t call me that. It makes me sound old. And I’m not.”

  He silently grinned from ear to ear and he sensed she was smiling too—not that she’d let anyone see her. That wouldn’t compliment the image of the head of the Caspian Wine Company. She was a woman who, against all odds, had risen to lead an empire in a world dominated by ruthless men.

  Guy admired the hell out of her.

  After the distinct click from her phone, he hit the end button on his. Fighting the urge to get out of his car and stretch, he rolled his head around to loosen the tight muscles. The last time he’d slept in a car he was sure he’d been eighteen and drunk, one of the only times he’d indulged himself. If the hangover hadn’t cured him, the disappointment in his grandmother’s eyes had. That was the only time he’d been relieved his grandpa hadn’t been alive. Guy didn’t think he could have lived with his being disappointed as well.