Dead on the Vine: (Violet Vineyard Murder Mysteries #1 (A Cozy Mystery)) (31 page)

When detective Priest arrived in his personal car, a burgundy Corvette, he parked it on the grass and joined the crew around Winter’s grave without so much as a glance in my direction. Victor and I gave our statements to a deputy.

I explained my discovery to him, detailing the connections I had found. He looked at me like I was crazy. At 12:30 A.M. the police finally left. Ben threw us a wave, but didn’t stop to speak. He looked ten years older than his years. Priest crossed to his Corvette. Momentarily, I thought of stopping Priest to explain how I had come to the conclusion that Winter was buried under my willow tree. But I was too upset to bother with him. My mental images of Winter as a bubbly little girl had been replaced by the mummy swaddled in dirty pink. I felt like crying but the tears wouldn’t come. My anger was too great, an anger that Laurel’s arrest and conviction would only ease, not relieve.

Thankfully, Jessica slept through it all, knocked out by her pain medication. I checked on her at 1:00 A.M., and she looked like a frail angel sprawled under her sheet, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow. I watched her for ten minutes with tears in my eyes for Kevin and Winter. I eased her door closed and rejoined Victor on the patio. Hunter Drake was still standing in the darkness at the edge of Winter’s grave, his back to Victor and me.

“I’m ready to try to go to sleep,” Victor said, rubbing his eyes. “Probably won’t be able to, but…” he shrugged pathetically and looked at me with bloodshot eyes. “Are you okay, Claire?”

“No,” I answered honestly, “But at least it’s over.”

Victor nodded. “You going to bed?”

“I’m going to talk to Hunt first,” I said, standing and stretching. “Then I’m going to smoke ten cigarettes and cry in my scotch. Maybe then I’ll be able to sleep.”

“Want me to stay up?” he asked with almost totally concealed reluctance.

“No,” I told him, shaking my head, hands on my aching lower back. “You go ahead.”

“Call me if you need me,” he said and disappeared inside.

For a moment I stood at the edge of the patio and watched Hunter’s black silhouette against the lighter purple of the night sky. Hugging myself against the cold, I walked over and stopped beside him. Neither of us spoke, but his presence beside me was a comfort.

“Coffee?” I finally broke the silence.

“No thanks,” he said and another three minute silence began.

“They put out an all-points for Mrs. Harlan,” he told me.

“They’ll catch her,” I said and Hunter nodded.

“Lot of blood behind her,” he said. Hunter seemed as down as I was.

“She was a beautiful little girl,” I said and the tears finally came, gushing out in a sob I was unable to swallow. Wordlessly, Hunter hugged me. I didn’t argue - I needed to feel close to someone at that moment. I gripped his shirt and cried. He held me a long time, until my tears had become mere sniffles and then for a long time after that. Each of us seemed hungry for the closeness. Finally, I stepped back a quarter-step and looked up into his shadowed face.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, his voice husky, his hands on my waist.

“Don’t ask,” I said and his lips came down hard on mine. Our bodies clashed in a needy embrace.  Only the shame of standing beside Winter’s grave made me break away.

“I’m sorry.” Hunter said. “Sorry.”

I shook my head and took his hand. Silently, I led him up the rows to the house. I locked the kitchen door behind us and he kissed me again.

“Claire,” Hunter began after the kiss had ended, but I put my fingers to his lips. I led him upstairs to my bedroom and locked the door behind us. I was acting shamelessly, but I didn’t care. I had been attracted to Hunter from the moment I met him. And I needed someone right now so desperately…I didn’t think, I acted.

That night we comforted each other without words, without awkwardness or pretense. Each took from the other and gave in return, a bittersweet dance. That night I began to fall in love with Hunt, and no thoughts of Ben or Roger entered my mind.

Hunter shook me awake at 5:00 A.M.

“I have to go, Claire,” he whispered, leaning over the bed, already fully dressed. I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

“Okay,” I said, feeling awkward and shy. Last night I had fallen into Hunter’s arms and he had fallen into my bed and it had felt so perfect. This morning I didn’t know how it felt. Hunter must have been feeling awkward too.

“Well, uh, when can I see you?” He asked, standing above me, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“When do you want to?” I asked with a sleepy smile. He laughed and the tension was broken.

“Breakfast?”

“Lunch?” I replied.

“I’ll cook,” he said, with a grin that had me thinking chili and chips. “My place, One o’clock.” He stooped and his lips brushed mine. His beard scratched my cheek. “One o’clock,” he repeated and stepped to the door. “I’ll let myself out,” he whispered. He pulled the door softly closed behind him and I fell back into my bed with a silly little smile on my face and a blissfully anxious sense of anticipation. I was back asleep almost instantly, thinking about Hunter and wondering what he would make for lunch.

When I came downstairs a little after 8:00, I could tell from the looks I got that Victor and Jessica knew that Hunter had stayed the night but neither of them said anything. Jessica had obviously been crying, and I assumed Victor had related the previous night’s events. I got some coffee and joined them at the table just as Victor rose to head out to the vineyard. When he was gone, Jessica asked if I was okay and I asked her right back. Neither of us mentioned Winter. The events of the last week had left me, at least, mentally and physically drained. I couldn’t take anymore. I guess she felt the same way. Jessica went to her room and I settled lazily into my chair with a vintage wine catalogue. I had to restock my cellar, after all, and it was a welcome distraction.

At 10:00 I was browsing the champagnes while thoughts of Hunter Drake danced at the edge of my mind. Good and bad thoughts. He was a great looking guy with a lot of personality, but a hard drinker too. There was no way I wanted a relationship with a drunk. But then again, who was I kidding? After all, I had slept with the man; if that wasn’t the start of a relationship then I’d better start looking closely at my moral barometer.

“Never mind that now,” I told myself. “Just enjoy the moment.” My whole life had been carefully thought out and planned, maybe now was the time to fly by the seat of my pants? 

Jessica came down, a pink sweater draped over her cast, and told me that she was going to see her father and might not be back until tomorrow. Victor was dropping her off. I knew she’d probably tell her father about me and Hunter and I grinned at the idea. It was about time my infidelities were reported to Roger instead of the other way around. Let’s see how he liked it!

At 11:00 A.M. I suddenly panicked over what to wear to Hunter’s. Something casual, I thought, but how casual? I finally settled on khaki slacks and a Violet Vineyard polo shirt. Then I changed my mind. I went through three ensembles before settling on a pale blue dress with a white sash and a modest above-the-knee hemline. I didn’t bother putting on makeup, but I did take time to tame my hair into a windswept look just this side of deranged. At 12:00 o’clock I was climbing into Sally after informing Victor that there was lunchmeat and bread in the kitchen.

“I’m disappointed that this new love life of yours is interfering with my food supply,” was his dry reply as I walked to my car.

I listened to Golden Oldies on the way to Hunter’s. By the time I got there I was feeling a very girlish shyness. Considering I had slept with the man the night before, it seemed silly to have my palms sweating and my breath coming harder as I walked up the sidewalk to his front door.

I knocked and Hunter came to the door in khaki slacks and a white polo shirt, the heavenly sent of roasting chicken oozing out around him.

“Hi, Claire,” he said and actually blushed. He wouldn’t quite meet my eyes. That made me feel a little less foolish, and a lot flattered. He held the door open, trying to stand aside in the narrow opening, but there wasn’t enough room. A bit of bumping and squeezing took place, both of us laughing, uncomfortably aware of the other’s nearness. I could smell after-shave of the cheap variety. That took me back to high school dates and dances. The chaste kiss he planted on my cheek after closing the door took me back even farther.

Hunter led me through the kitchen to the back patio.

“Whatever you’re making smells wonderful,” I told him as we stepped into his back yard paradise. The scent of flowers and wet grass didn’t quite obscure the smells coming from the kitchen. A pitcher of iced tea, slices of fresh lemon floating on top, and two glasses sat on the iron table.  I sat down across from Hunter.

“Roasted chicken with mushroom sauce and pan fried potatoes,” he said.

“Sounds great,” I said to cover the growl coming from my stomach. The coffee and cigarettes I’d had for breakfast hadn’t been very filling.

“The mushroom sauce is really cream of mushroom soup,” he said with an apologetic grin. “Chicken’s free-range, though.”

“I’m glad to know it was a happy chicken,” I said and he laughed.

“Until the axe fell.”

“We’re all happy chickens up to that point.”

“Probably a little nervous right there at the end, though,” he said. “Iced tea?”

“Love some,” I said and he poured us both a glass. I was glad that he hadn’t offered me a drink. That would have been the pinprick for my good mood. Today, I just wanted to enjoy the meal and his company without thinking of any deeper issues. Issues that might have already marked this relationship for disintegration. Issues like my marriage and his drinking problem. Little things.

“Can I bum a cigarette?” I asked, and he fished a pack out of his pants pocket, handed me a cigarette and lit it for me. He lit one for himself and we settled back in the chairs, enjoying the sunshine and the breeze. Out front I could hear the occasional shouts of children, a dog barking and the rumble of passing cars, but we might as well have been a thousand miles away in Hunter’s personal Garden of Eden.

We sat in silence, comfortably, like an old married couple, smoking and sipping our tea. I felt so relaxed I could have slipped my shoes off and gone to sleep. Hunter must have felt the same way. He yawned then stood and stretched hugely.

“Better check on the chicken,” he said and disappeared inside. I heard pans clatter and silverware jingle for a few minutes and then a crash as glass hit the floor. I got up and stepped inside, but not too quickly. I know when I break something I need a moment of private cursing.

Hunter was sweeping up a pile of white glass slivers that had been two dinner plates. He grinned at me as I stepped inside and said; “Chicken’s fine, don’t worry.”

“Let me do that,” I said and grabbed the broom from him. “You get dinner on the table,” I added with a grin, “I’m hungry.”

“Your wish is my duty, fair lady,” he said and handed me the broom. “Especially when it means you take the broom.”

“That’s not an antifeminist jibe, is it?” I asked as I swept the glass into a plastic dustpan.

“I am anything but anti-female,” he said over his shoulder as he eased a glass pan filled with chicken breasts and bubbling mushroom sauce (soup if you want to get technical) out of the oven. He looked darned cute as he inspected the chicken. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had cooked dinner for me. Probably because no man ever had!

I emptied the dustpan in the trash as Hunter transferred chicken to two new plates, ladled on the sauce and then eased a lidded casserole out of the oven. The smell of browned potatoes joined the smell of chicken and I almost swooned. Hunter fumbled through a drawer of loose silverware for a large spoon, which he handed to me. I ladled up the potatoes and we carried our plates out into the sunshine.

“Oh, wow,” I said after the first bite. “Either this is fantastic or I’m starving.”

“Maybe both,” Hunter said after he swallowed. “Enjoy, it’s all I know how to cook.”

“Mom’s favorite recipe?” I asked.

“My ex’s least favorite, actually. Probably why I like it so much,” he said around a mouthful of potatoes. Such manners.

We were interrupted by a knock on the front door.

Hunter looked up in surprise. I guessed he didn’t get many visitors.

“Be right back,” he said, wiping his hands on his calves. I just nodded, my mouth overfull. I stopped eating abruptly when Hunter returned with a visitor.

Sheriff Ben Stoltze stopped dead in the doorway, his eyes on me. I was suddenly flustered, like a wife caught cheating. Ben’s stare didn’t make me feel any better. His expression seemed to be caught between betrayal and surprise, but that lasted only a second before he stepped down to the patio and smiled tightly at me.

“Hello, Claire. What are you doing here?” Ben didn’t seem to notice the garden around him or the view of the mountains beyond.

“Having lunch,” Hunter said with forced joviality, looking from me to Ben. “Want to join us?”

“Can’t.” Ben didn’t look at Hunt, his eyes stayed on me. “Just had lunch with the District Attorney. He got a subpoena this morning from Buford Logan’s attorney. Gonna need you to come in and go over the file with us, Hunt.”

Anger flashed across Hunter’s face. “I had nothing to do with Buford Logan’s arrest,” he said. “It was
your
case by then.”

Ben turned to face Hunter.

“And I was wrong about it,” Ben said flatly, without apology.

“That wasn’t the only thing you were wrong about,” Hunter said. “You were wrong about Laurel. You were stumbling over your dick.”

Ben looked at me, then back at Hunter. “This isn’t the time, Hunt.”

“I warned you back then,” Hunter persisted, his lips a flat line. “Nothing I can do now.”

“You can help me keep Buford Logan in jail,” Ben barked. “Or do you want another murder on your conscience?”

“My conscience is fine,” Hunter replied.

“A few drinks cleared it right up. That right, Hunt?” Ben said viciously and I thought Hunter might punch him. The two stared at each other like dogs straining at their leashes.

“Should I leave you two alone?” I asked, starting to rise. Hunter waved me back down. I really wanted to go. To run and hide.

“I’ll come in later this afternoon,” Hunter said. “Good enough?”

“That’ll be fine, Hunt.” Ben stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked like he wanted to say something else. Hunter didn’t give him the chance.

“This afternoon,” Hunter said and it was clear that the conversation and the visit were over.

“See me before you go to the DA,” Ben said. “I’d like to talk before we go in.”

“Won’t change what I have to say,” Hunter bluntly told him.

“Damn it, Hunt!” Ben exploded. “I’m not asking you to lie.”

Hunter shrugged.

“This afternoon,” Ben said and opened the kitchen door. Halfway through, he paused and looked back at me.

“See you, Claire,” he said with a feigned indifference that made me cringe. I tried to shrug it off, but I felt as if I had done something wrong, whether I had or not.

“Bye, Ben,” is all I said, wondering if he could tell by looking at me that I had slept with Hunter? A silly notion, but sometimes I can be very silly, especially, it seemed, when it came to affairs of the heart.

Hunter dropped into his chair, propped his elbows on the table and put his hands together, like he was praying. The mood of sexually-charged companionship had evaporated. And so had my appetite.

Hunter and I sat in silence for five minutes, our food growing cold.

“Damn it,” Hunter said then his eyes flicked up to mine. “Sorry about that. This isn’t the way I wanted the afternoon to go.”

“That’s all right,” I assured him, and then the nosy part of me kicked in. “You think Buford Logan will get out?”

Hunter scowled as he dug out his cigarettes, offered me one and then lit them for us. “Yes. Shouldn’t happen, but it will. They’ll make him out to be a victim of injustice. A damned hero.”

“What’s going on between you and Ben that you can’t discuss in front of me or the Assistant DA?” I asked Hunter.

“You really think that’s any of your business?” he asked in a tone so cool that I felt like I had been demoted from lover to nosy busybody. I would have said something sharp in reply, but something I had heard in the two men’s brief and bitter conversation finally struck home.

I sat up straight in my chair. “Ben was the policeman who had an affair with Laurel,” I said, a statement of fact not a question. “He covered for Laurel because he was sleeping with her.” That bastard!

Hunter winced and looked away. “Now, Claire,” he began. “You’ve got to under—“

“I think I finally
do
understand,” I said, getting to my feet. “Ben had an affair with Laurel and helped her to cover up Winter’s murder. And you just sat by with a drink in your hand and let it happen.” All the anger that had been churning inside me rose up in my throat. I had just been feeling sorry for Ben and now this! “That bastard!”  I roared. “
You
bastard!”