Grapes of Death (8 page)

“Spit it out, precious.”

“Spit what out?”

She looked up at him all innocence, but he wasn't fooled. She was hatching something. “Spit out whatever it is that you're not saying.”

“Okay, not to change the subject, but are you going to talk to Pam today?”

Closing his eyes, he counted to ten before answering. “Yes, El, I'm going out to the Pit Barbeque next, if it's any of your business—which of course, it's not. Did we not talk about this just last night?”

“Geez, don't blow a gasket. I was just asking.” Elise crossed her arms and cocked a hip. “But come to think of it, you should probably take a look at Uncle Edmond's house too. I didn't have much time on Monday, and there's probably more clues buried out there in that pig sty.”

“You just can't help yourself, can you?” Jackson blew out an exasperated breath and jabbed a finger at her. “You need to let me do my job in my own way and keep that pretty little nose of yours out of it. Are you listening to me?”

“Kinda hard not to when you're hollerin' in my face.”

“I've got several interviews left to do and my own timeline for
my
investigation. I don't need you poking around to worry about as well.”

“Okay, okay, don't be so touchy. I'm just sayin'. Anyway, I've got my own work to do. Why in the world would I want to take on yours, too?”

“I mean it, El. Stay out of my investigation.”

“Now who's not listening? Didn't I just say I don't have time to do any more poking around in
your
case?”

He watched her adopt an air of nonchalance as she flipped her hair over her shoulder.

Oh, yes. She was up to something, all right. He could feel it. He just couldn't quite see what.

Eight

Elise was pretty sure
Jackson hadn't bought her wide-eyed innocent act when she'd told him she wasn't interested in his investigation. The truth was, she wanted to know exactly what her uncle had been up to in the months before his murder.

Jackson was wrong when he'd said it was none of her business. Whatever Edmond had been planning had obviously included the vineyard. And the vineyard involved her family as well as her work. In her opinion, that made it her business.

She'd have to be careful not to get in Jackson's way and
stay as far under his radar as possible. But she had a gut feeling that whatever she was looking for was buried in that rat-hole Edmond had been living in, and she was going to do her level best to find it. That meant going back and doing a better search, no matter how repugnant the thought might be.

She'd waited until the family meeting had broken up and she knew Jackson was long gone before calling C.C. and recruiting her for some amateur sleuthing. Then she headed over to pick her up the minute she could break away from the vineyard without raising any red flags. The last thing she needed was for Jackson to get wind of her plan to go back to her uncle's house.

True to form, C.C. didn't even blink when Elise suggested she put on her breaking and entering hat. However, the closer they got to Edmond's place, the guiltier Elise began to feel. It was one thing to place oneself in a hot seat with the law—maybe even in the middle of harm's way—but quite another to drag a friend there with you.

“C.C., there's still time to back out if you want,” she said as she pulled her sports car into her uncle's driveway. “We really shouldn't be here at all, and Jax will pop a vein if he finds out. I'll understand if you want to wait in the car.”

C.C. turned toward her with a smirk on her face and leveled a bland stare in her direction. “So, let me get this straight: if I say I'm backing out, are you going in there anyway?”

Elise shut off the motor and sat staring at the house as she gathered her thoughts. The last time she'd gone snooping here she'd been alone and hadn't stayed long. She'd freaked herself out after being inside for only a few minutes. Her search hadn't been as thorough as she'd wanted it to be, but this time she was going to do a better job. Though she honestly had no idea what she was looking for, she hoped she'd know it if and when she saw it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am,” she finally answered with a firm nod. “I want a closer look and I'm going to take my time, be thorough. I just know there's something in there that will give me a clearer understanding of what Uncle Edmond was up to before he was killed. There might also be a clue as to who killed him and why. I can't
not
do this.”

“Uh-huh. That's what I thought. So, if that's the case, then you're not going in there all by your lonesome. And let me just say, if there's sleuthing to be done, I'm gonna be in on it. Besides, this car is a bright red beacon, and I'd probably be more conspicuous sitting out here than going inside with you.”

“You know, if we get caught doing this, we'll probably be in big trouble—maybe even be charged with obstruction or tampering with evidence or some stupid thing.”

C.C. laughed out loud at that. “Please. Let them try to pull something that pathetic. This is your uncle's house, and I don't see any crime scene tape. So I say, as long as we aren't picking the lock or smashing a window to get inside, we're not
actually
breaking and entering.”

She unearthed two pairs of latex gloves from the depths of the huge bag she called a purse and dangled them in front of Elise's face. “Of course, I'd rather not get caught. Just to be on the safe side, we should probably wear these so as not to leave any prints behind.”

Elise grinned. This was one of the reasons C.C. was her BFF. The woman was always willing to jump into Elise's latest adventure with both feet, regardless of the consequences. That, to her mind, was the definition of a true friend. “Wow, you really came prepared.”

“You bet,” C.C. replied with a wink. “I was a Girl Scout, you know. Now let's get this party started, shall we?”

They each snapped on their gloves, climbed from the car, and headed for the house.

“Uncle Edmond rarely locked his door, but just in case, I think there's a key hidden somewhere in that overgrown planter on the porch.”

But as they reached the porch, they saw that the door was standing slightly ajar and they didn't need a key.

“Okay, that's kinda creepy,” C.C. said and stepped behind Elise. “You go first.”

“Don't be such a wuss. The last person out probably just didn't get the door closed properly and it blew open with the wind or something, that's all.”

“Uh-huh. I repeat, you go first.”

Elise shot a glance over her shoulder. “What happened to ‘Let's get this party started'?”

C.C. jiggled her eyebrows up and down, and her dark brown eyes twinkled with mischief. “I said I was up for some sleuthing; I didn't say I wouldn't be a wuss about it if we ran across some creepiness.”

“Oh, brother.”

Elise gave the door a push, and the prolonged
creak
the door made as it swung open sent a chill down her back. When she made no attempt to enter, C.C. nudged her shoulder.

“What are you waiting for?”

“I'm going. Don't push me.”

Moving into the dim light of the living room, she took a cursory look around and then glanced back at her friend. “See. Nothing out of the ordinary here, just an average living room.”

C.C. stepped inside and immediately wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, a really filthy, disgusting, and smelly living room. My God, Edmond was a pig!”

“I know. It's pretty bad, so let's get this done and get the hell out of here as fast as we can.” She pointed to the right. “You take that end of the disgusting living room, and I'll start over here in the nasty dining area.”

They spent thirty minutes going through the enormous amount of crap that Edmond had accumulated and evidently felt compelled to keep. Random stacks of papers—which seemed to be piled in every damn corner—contained everything from old letters to delinquent bills to more gambling markers and paystubs.

“I think Uncle Edmond may have been spying on River Bend for someone,” Elise said and held up a fairly recent copy of a book on grape varieties and hybridization. “And it looks like he was doing a little research to boot.”

C.C. looked up from the heap of paperwork she was digging through and frowned. “What makes you think he was spying for someone? Maybe he was just boning up in case your mom caved and gave him his own slice of the pie.”

Elise snorted and went back to sorting. “Besides living in a dung heap, my uncle—God rest his blackened soul—avoided work in any form. The only reason he wanted a slice of our fabulous River Bend pie was to sell it off and pay down his debts so he could start all over again.”

“That's just sad, not to mention so very wrong.”

“I know, right?” Elise waved a hand around in the air. “I just can't get over the fact that he'd rather live like this and be employed by a competitor than work with his own family—and in a cleaner environment.”

“Amen to that,” C.C. muttered. “The dust bunny I just stumbled across is the size of a small dog.”

“Gross.”

“El, you know it's going to take forever to get through all this junk.” C.C. stood and moved on to the bookshelf. “How much time do we have here and how thorough do you want to be?”

Elise pushed the hair back out of her eyes and looked around the cluttered dining room table, then squealed and jumped back.

“Cockroaches!” she explained with a hand to her chest when C.C. whipped around with a look of concern. “Geez, I hate those things, and this one is huge. I think I'm just about done here. I'll come and help you in a minute.”

“Uh—El? You might want to come take a look at this now.”

The urgency in her friend's voice had Elise abandoning the bug-infested papers on the table to see what she'd found. “What have you got?”

C.C. offered her an old hardback book she'd taken from the shelf she'd been perusing.

Elise frowned as she took it, brushing the dust and grime from the cover.
“
Arabian Nights
?”

“Open it.”

When she did she almost squealed again—this time with delight. Her uncle had carved out a nook inside the novel just big enough for the small journal it held. The notebook couldn't have been much larger than five by seven, but Elise imagined it must have been extremely important for her uncle to go to such trouble to conceal it.

“Oh man, this is exciting.” C.C. licked her lips. “A hidden clue. Like one of those mystery shows you see on television.”

Gingerly taking the journal out of its hiding spot, Elise dropped the shell of the novel on the end table. Opening the small notebook, she skimmed through several pages, and her smile began to grow.

“So, what's in it?” C.C. asked. “Anything important? Any hints to what Edmond was into?”

“Yes. Do tell, Elise. What's in it?” Startled by the deep voice that boomed from the doorway, both women jumped like felons and then screamed like little girls.

“Jackson!” Elise cried when she was able to catch her breath. “For the love of mud, what's the matter with you? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Unnerved when he didn't speak right away and continued to look at her with one of his inscrutable Landry stares, she went into offensive mode. “What are you doing here, besides trying to scare us witless?”

“What am I doing—” Jackson looked stunned for a brief moment. “What am
I
doing here? You're kidding, right?”

“Okay, now there's a really good reason for us to be here.”

“Don't. Just don't even go there,” he growled, and she knew he was spitting angry. “Because we both know whatever you say is going to be bull. You're wearing latex gloves, for God's sake!”

“And there's a reason for that as well.”

“Please! I mean, really, did you even wait for me to clear the driveway before you called C.C. and roped her into coming out here with you? And I'm not even going to touch on your ‘witless' comment, because
that
seems pretty self-explanatory.”

“All right, very funny.”

“Jackson, to be fair—” C.C. began, but he cut her off with a hard look. She'd been watching the exchange like a spectator at a tennis match, but now he fixated on her.

“And you!” he muttered, stabbing a finger in her direction. “You should know better, but I bet it didn't take long for her to talk you into this fiasco. Hell, knowing you, you probably supplied the damn gloves.”

Elise and C.C. looked at each other, and their mouths dropped open.

Before either could respond, Jackson held his hand out to Elise. “Give it up.”

“Give what up?” Elise asked, slipping the journal behind her back.

“Oh, for God's sake. Don't be such a child,” he replied with disgust. “Give me the notebook. Right now.”

“Jack-son!” His name came out in a whiny two syllables, and she stomped her foot for emphasis. “I found it.”

“From what I saw, you did no such thing. C.C. found it.”

“Regardless, this isn't even a crime scene. So I don't see why I should even have to give it to you.”

When he simply gave her a
come on
gesture with his hand, she folded like a bad poker hand.

“I should at least get the chance to look through it before you confiscate it,” she said with a pout. Crossing the room, she shoved it at him. “Fine. Take it, and I hope you choke on it.”

He made a clucking sound with his tongue and shook his head as he took the journal from her. “Now, you don't mean that, do you, darlin'?”

She glared at him. “You have no idea.”

For the first time since arriving, his laughter filled the room before he grew serious again. “Let that be a lesson to the two of you. You need to stay out of this. I don't want to have this conversation again.” When she continued to glower at him, he stepped right into her personal bubble. “Are you listening to me, pal?”

As much as she wanted to take a step back, she forced herself not to. She wasn't about to show weakness. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time.”

“Evidently not. Christ, El, I can't believe you came out here to snoop around after we just talked about this.”

“Okay, okay!” She cocked a hip and crossed her arms between them for effect. “I don't see what you're getting so worked up over.”

“I'm getting worked up because you said ‘okay' the last couple of times we've had this chat. You're starting to work my last nerve with your Pinocchio act, if you get me.”

“Oh, now who's acting childish?”

Instead of answering her, his head snapped up and he stared toward the hallway. “Shhh.”

“Don't you shush me, Jackson Landry. You may be in charge of this investigation, but that doesn't give you the right—”

She got no further when he reached out and firmly pressed a finger to her lips. “Would you shut up for a minute and listen?” he whispered.

She slapped his hand away, but in that instant she heard the distinct thumping sound, like someone pounding on a wall somewhere toward the back of the house.