Dead on the Vine: (Violet Vineyard Murder Mysteries #1 (A Cozy Mystery)) (20 page)

I got to sleep late again. And once again I was up early, awakened by the sound of rain pounding the roof and wind whipping the eaves. I worried about the vines. This much rain wasn’t good for them. Samson came in late and grouchy, eyes bloodshot. He grumbled something about Marjory’s drinking and headed downstairs to nurse his hangover. Or for a little ‘hair-of-the-dog,’ more likely.  Jessica stayed in her room until early afternoon, then borrowed my battered old vineyard van to go to her grandmother’s, rolling her eyes and whining the whole time.  Jessica’s MG was in the shop, but then it always is. It’s a pretty piece of junk her father bought her at age sixteen, and she refuses to get rid of it. Wonder where she got that trait, I thought wryly.

Forced to stay inside by the rain, I handled the FedEx driver and talked to three old clients who wanted cases of the Reserve. I didn’t have the cases to spare, but I managed to squeeze a few bottles out of my personal stash. It hurt, but it made them happy.

The rain kept coming but the temperature stayed in the mid-fifties. I lit a fire in the kitchen fireplace and kept it going all afternoon as I went through the accounts, leafed through a vintner’s catalogue and scrubbed the floors and counters. Anything to stay busy and keep my mind occupied. It didn’t work. My brain was twisted too tightly around Kevin’s murder and my daughter’s arrest. I wanted to do something, and the inactivity was driving me nuts!

The sun poked through only once or twice during the day, usually right before a fresh downpour. The Valley was shrouded in a ghost-river of mist and my vines hung heavy and wet as the greedy earth sucked up the rain. At 6:00 Samson said goodbye. He was his usually crabby self, bitching about the FedEx driver. He left, still muttering, telling me he’d see me at Marjory’s party tomorrow - a party I had completely forgotten about. And I had to go. Marjory would kill me if I didn’t.

Victor came in moments after Samson left.

He was dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair slicked back and tied with a green, white and red band. He was speckled with rain and smelled of cologne.

“Didn’t expect to see you today,” I said as he ducked inside. “You look like you’re going out on a date?”

“Just came back from one.” He waggled his eyebrows and winked. “But don’t ask for details, I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Thank God for small favors,” I said, placing a freshly scrubbed pot on a dishtowel to dry. “Coffee or a drink?”

“Tell me what’s wrong first,” Victor said, drawing a chair back from the table, looking intently at me.

With a sigh, and a shake of the head, I pushed up the window over the sink and lit a cigarette. A gust of cold wind flowed into the cozy room and I heard the rattle of tree limbs thrashing in the breeze. The rain had stopped.

“I am kind of down,” I admitted. As I smoked, I told Victor about Ben being told to back off and my belief that Priest was trying to frame Jessica at Laurel’s behest. Victor nodded throughout, of course.

“You know what you need?” Victor asked, trying valiantly to be lighthearted. “A break. I came by to see if you wanted to get a drink. I figured you’d be bored crazy by now, what with the rain and all. And it seems I’ve arrived just in time to rescue you from yourself.”

“I’m not really dressed for a rescue,” I said, glancing at my jeans and the blue button-down shirt I was wearing untucked. “But, what the hell.” I grabbed my keys and locked up.

Rain was dripping from the eaves, but the clouds were clearing. The moon was a thin sliver hovering over the mountains, casting only a sallow light.

“Where do you want to go?” Victor asked as we climbed into Sally. “I was thinking San Cito’s over in Calistoga?”

“I was thinking of anywhere else,” I said. “The crowd at San Cito’s is kind of young for me. And loud.”

“You’re only as old as you feel,” Victor said with a grin as I backed out the driveway and turned down Mayacamas.

“Then I must be a hundred.”

“You do need a drink. Where’re we going?”

“San Cito’s,” I gave in. “Smart-ass.”

San Cito’s was alive with Disco retreads, smoke, and flirting yuppies. Victor looked over the women while I had three cups of coffee with Baileys. It was impossible to talk, and I got bored pretty quick. By the time we left, just after midnight, I had a pounding headache, Victor had been shot down by three women and I had been hit on once, so we were both in a bad mood. To top it off, the rain had started again in the form of a depressing drizzle.  I wove back to Highway 29 and headed north with the windshield wipers whapping. We made good time until we reached the outskirts of St. Helena and turned up the Silverado Trail. Brake lights stretched for a half of a mile up the usually lightly-traveled road, ending in a confusion of flashing lights that I guessed were police cars and fire trucks.

I waited as patiently as I could, despite Victor’s annoying habit of changing the radio station every five seconds. He finally stopped on a hard rock station and I vetoed it by snapping the radio off.

“Hey! That’s a good song!”

“It’s noise pollution. If you can find something we can agree on, I’ll turn it back on.”

“The music you listen to puts me to sleep,” Victor groused, playing with the latch on the glove box. “What’s goin’ on up there? Shove the damn thing out of the way already!” We were close enough to see a crumpled white van tangled in the guardrail, its front end suspended over a hundred-foot drop-off into a dark and craggy ravine. Whoever was in the van got lucky. If it wasn’t for the guardrail wrapped under the chassis and around the rear wheels it would have toppled over the edge and ended in a fireball at the bottom of the ravine. The van was illuminated by the flashing strobes of a trio of police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck. A few cars had pulled to the shoulder, their drivers standing around talking as a policeman waved traffic through. Two attendants were loading someone into the ambulance. The ambulance’s siren yipped twice and the policeman held up his palm to stop traffic. I hit the brake just in time to avoid crashing into the minivan in front of me.  

Victor groaned as the ambulance crept into the lane ahead of us. I took the time to rubberneck the wreck, feeling guilty, but unable to resist. The van had purple lettering on the side, but I was having trouble making out the words in the dark. The ambulance’s headlights flared across it and the words came clear.

“Oh my God!” I shrieked and Victor jumped. “That’s my van!”

“What?” Victor said, then yelled “Hey!” and grabbed the dash as I lurched out of traffic, slipping between two police cars, jarring us to a stop facing the van, my headlights lighting up the wreck. The van looked as if it had been hit by a train. The chassis was buckled. Torn and ripped metal gleamed dully, but I didn’t care about the van! My only thoughts were for my daughter. I was out of the car and running across the wet asphalt before what I had said hit Victor. He jumped out of the car a split second before I was blindsided by a beefy Sheriff’s deputy cloaked in a yellow rain slicker. He hooked an arm around my waist, pirouetted me through a complete circle and set me back down like I was a little girl.

“Hold up, lady,” he ordered then plucked me up again when I tried to dodge around him. He had me around the waist, my back pressed to his massive chest. I kicked and squirmed, my eyes glued on the wreck, picturing Jessica bloody and broken behind the wheel. No one was going to stop me from going to the van!

“Let me go!” I wailed. “Let me go!” I snapped an elbow back at his face.  The impact sent pain rocketing up my arm and the deputy staggered, but he didn’t let go.

“Stop it!” he bellowed in my ear. “Hold still! Damn it! Stop that!”

Victor ran up. “That’s her van,” he panted. “Her daughter was driving it.”

“She’s okay lady!” the policeman yelled in my ear. “She’s alive. They took her to County.” He put my feet on the ground but didn’t loosen his grip until I stopped struggling. He put one hand to his lips. It came away bloody. “Damn it. I’m bleeding.”

“She’s okay?” I panted, feeling weak in the knees. I was soaked to the skin by the cold drizzle. I shivered. “Are you sure? How can you be sure? How?” I was talking fast, the shivers turning to shakes. Victor put his arm around my shoulders.

“She was talking when they put her in the ambulance,” the policeman barked. “Christ, this hurts.” He wiped blood off his chin. His lip was split.

“Sorry,” I said, my eyes returning to the wreck. “I’ve got to go.” I broke away from Victor and sprinted to my car. Victor’s boots slapped the pavement right behind me. I was opening the driver’s door when he caught up.

“Other side,” he ordered, stepping between the car and me. “I’m driving.”

I didn’t argue. I dove past him and slid across the seat. “Then drive!”

Victor burned rubber backing up, fishtailed around and pointed Sally toward the valley. The policeman watched us go, shaking his head, gingerly touching his lip.

Victor made me proud. He ran every light, and got us to the hospital as they were wheeling Jessica into the emergency room. I leapt out before the car had come to a stop and ran to my daughter’s side.

Her eyes found mine as I reached the gurney. I grabbed her hand and asked if she was okay.

“I think my arm’s broken,” she said, her voice tight with pain. Her left arm was splinted and her face was bruised. Her right cheek was already turning a sick green-yellow. A thin gash dripped blood from her forehead and another marred her jaw.

“Out of the way,” the EMS Technician pushing the cart said curtly. “She’s gotta go straight to X-ray. The nurses at the desk will talk to you.”

“You’re really okay?” I asked Jessica, keeping pace with the gurney.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Don’t worry.” I touched her face and they wheeled her through the door.

“She okay?” Victor trotted up behind me.

“She’s okay,” I said and he hugged me fiercely. His heart was pounding. I patted his back and he let go fast, obviously embarrassed.

“Where they taking her?”

“X-rays.”

Victor followed me inside where we were intercepted by a young Asian nurse with a peroxide blonde ponytail and sad brown eyes.  She couldn’t have been over four-foot-six.

“Ma’am?” she said.  “Are you with the girl who just arrived?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Could you come with me? I’m sorry, but I have some paperwork,” she told us with an apologetic smile. ‘Some’ was an understatement. By the time I finished signing my name to a hundred documents Jessica was in an observation room on the second floor talking to the same policeman who had tackled me at the wreck. He touched his swollen lip and grinned when Victor and I stepped into the room. He was a good-looking young man in a corn-fed German way. Ruddy and blond, big square hands and feet. The kind of man you liked immediately.

“Got a wicked elbow, Mrs. de Montagne. Oughta take you in for assault.”

“I’m
so
sorry,” I started, prepared to grovel. He waved the apology off.

“Got two kids of my own. God help anyone that came between me and them. I’m just about finished with Jessica.”

Jessica was lying under crisp white sheets, her jaw and forehead bandaged, her left arm in a cast. She looked like the worst end of a fistfight. She smiled weakly. “Hi mom, Victor. Sorry ‘bout the van,” She said in a cottony-thick voice. Her pupils were huge, and she could barely keep her eyes open. They must have given her something for the pain.

“Don’t worry about the van, I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Y’all can have a seat, nothing top secret here,” the policeman told Victor and me, nodding at two plastic chairs. He turned back to Jessica.

“So, you didn’t see the truck up close, but you’re sure it was a truck?”

“I’m sure,” Jessica nodded. “It came flying up behin’ me. Thought she was gonna pass, but she just stayed on my bumper. Scary.”

“I’m sure it was,” the policeman said patiently. “And then it rammed you?”

“What?!” I said, scooting up to the edge of the chair. “A truck rammed you?”

“Ma’am,” the policeman shot me a warning then turned back to my daughter. “How long was he tailgating you?”

“Few minutes. Hours. I slowed down, but she wouldn’t pass. I sped up, but she did too.”

“And then she rammed you? When the other truck was coming?”

“’S right. She rammed me and pushed me. Righ’ at the truck! Then Bam! And I don’t remember…”

“Okay, did she hit you once or several times?” the policeman asked while I listened, teeth clenched.

“Severa’,” Jessica said, blinking more lethargically. She yawned, and winced. She closed her eyes.

“And then she shoved you at the diesel?”

“Lights ‘n my face. Blinded me, then I hit the guardrail.”

“I notice you keep saying ‘she.’  Did you get a good look at her? Do you know the person?”

“Didn’t see her real good,” Jessica said thickly. “But it was Michelle Lawford.”

“Michelle Lawford?” I yelped and the deputy shot me a warning look as he jotted down the name. My heart jumped in my chest. Laurel’s dogs-body had tried to kill my daughter!? Rage followed close on the heels of shock and disbelief. My hands knotted up and blood throbbed in my temples. I’d kill her! I’d kill them both!