Deadly Offer (14 page)

“Selena didn’t die a natural death,” she said quietly. “She was poisoned.”

The look he gave her was one of pure surprise.

“Poisoned? That can’t be.”

“The wine she drank had an overdose of her blood pressure medication. It caused her to lose consciousness in the hot tub and drown.”

“She must have caused her own overdose! Apparently she was not a well woman.”

“The police think she was deliberately poisoned.”

Michael Contento put a hand up to his chin and Darby noticed it was shaking. “Ridiculous,” he muttered. “Totally ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry to give you this news,” Darby stammered. “I thought that you should know.”

Slowly a change came over his face. The shocked look hardened into a snarl and his eyes became brittle. He took a step toward her, his eyes narrow.

“Who do you think you are, throwing out your theories as if you actually knew something? We all loved Selena. Not even Barton would have harmed a hair on her head.” He gave a harsh laugh. “For once that idiot Wainfield is correct—you have no right butting into our business. Go back to Southern California, Darby Farr, and leave us to grieve for our dead.”

Michael Contento turned abruptly and stormed back to the vineyard’s kitchen entrance. Darby heard the door close with a bang. Her heart was beating hard from the confrontation but she forced herself to analyze the scene objectively.

Clearly the news that Selena’s death was intentional had taken the older man by surprise. Darby had witnessed his shock become rage, and then felt his anger directed at a convenient scapegoat—her. She knew with certainty that behind his tirade lurked fear.

Who are you really angry at, Michael? What is it that you are afraid of ?

———

Detective Nardone raised an eyebrow as Darby approached the tasting room and the crowd of mourners. “I think I saw some sparks flying between you and Michael Contento,” she commented drily. “What was that all about?”

Darby glanced around and saw that they were alone. “I told him about Selena and the beta blockers. He was surprised and then very angry at me.”

“Listen, Darby, I can tell you are one of those frustrated amateur detectives and I don’t doubt that your instincts for this kind of work are very good, but—and this is a big but—this is my investigation and you need to let me handle it.” She pursed her lips. “That said, it’s often very useful to have someone in the field who is not law enforcement, someone who can do the kinds of things we can’t do, say the kinds of things we’d get our hands slapped for.” She tilted her chin at Darby. “I’m going to be looking for your cooperation on that score.”

Darby nodded. “I’m sorry if I jumped the gun with Michael. The timing seemed right …”

“Timing is everything, I agree. Now describe for me again his reaction. Shocked, and then extremely pissed off ?”

“Yes, but mingled with something else—apprehension, fear. I got the impression that telling him about the metoprolol triggered something.”

“He thinks he has an idea of who might have poisoned that girl, and ten to one he doesn’t believe it was Barton.”

“And what do you think, Detective? Did Christophe Barton poison Selena? Was she just another link in his chain of terror against Carson Creek?”

“Nah, I don’t think so. It doesn’t fit what we now know of Barton’s profile. Barton liked to do showy things, crimes involving action. He saw himself as a French
saboteur.
Poisoning? It’s too passive for him.” She thought a moment. “Now, he may have been teaming up with someone else, and that person poisoned Selena while he handled the planning of the explosion.” She put her hands on her hips. “He strikes me as a lone wolf kind of guy, but just to be sure, I’ll get someone analyzing his computer and phone records.”

Darby saw Carlos across the room in a conversation with a cousin and remembered his story about Selena’s bruises. She told Detective Nardone about the possibility of an abusive boyfriend in the victim’s past.

“That’s a good lead. Selena’s body was bruised on her abdomen, but that looked to have been from a fall.” She paused. “We could find some of the people she lived with in San Francisco, discover who this guy was.”

“I can ask Carlos if he remembers any of her friends. Perhaps Dan would know as well.” They were quiet a moment as a staff person passed them with a tray of sliced avocados and miniature quesadillas. Detective Nardone motioned for the waiter to stop and then chose one from his tray.

She took a bite, chewed, and then nodded. “Good.”

Darby wasn’t sure if the detective was commenting on the quesadilla or the case. She waited.

“Dan Stewart mentioned seeing a car pass him on the road to Carson Creek on Thursday—blue, with writing on the side. I noticed the big yoga guy drives a hybrid car, blue, with advertising. If you get the chance, put on your Nancy Drew hat and find out why he’s here. He may want to purchase Carson Creek but it’s odd to show up at the dead seller’s funeral service, don’t you think?” She finished the quesadilla and pulled a pair of sunglasses from the pocket of her jacket. Darby noted with surprise that they were Chanel.

Suddenly Detective Nardone seemed all business. “Questioning on this case will start this afternoon. I’ll talk to Dan Stewart again, meet with the Contentos, question the yoga guy, and have a little chat with Vivian Allen. If you hear anything else that could be pertinent to this investigation, give me a call.” She pulled a business card out of her jacket pocket and handed it to Darby. “Watch your back. This is a murder investigation. We’re dealing with someone who thinks killing is a way to solve problems.”

Darby nodded and watched Detective Nardone walk away. A sudden breeze blew up from the valley, ruffling the tablecloths laden with trays of food. Darby shivered. The wind and the weight of the detective’s words gave her goose bumps. She crossed her arms for warmth and headed into the room.

———

Toby Bliss took a bite of smoked salmon and chewed thoughtfully. There it was again, the circular tattoo on the big beefy guy he’d driven home from his bar. A wheel, with spokes—possibly for a motorcycle club, he thought. So the guy had known Selena Thompson. He must have been a friend of hers from before her days in the valley, because Bliss knew everyone, and this guy was not a local.

He gave a little wave to Margo Contento, who nodded back from across the room. She was stunning: tall, blonde, and with a kind of energy that seemed to light up the room. Too bad she had to work for such a prick, he thought. Michael Contento was one smug son of a gun, never satisfied with anything, from a dry martini to the charity 5K held at Toby’s bar. He shook his head and popped another piece of salmon into his mouth. Even now, the guy was giving his daughter a hard time, pointing a finger in sharp little bursts, a hand on his hip. Toby could read his body language from across the room. Michael Contento was not happy.

Margo seemed to be explaining something to him and her furtive looks indicated that she did not want to make a scene. Her father, however, had those big Italian emotions that you couldn’t tamp down if you tried. Toby watched as he threw his head back in a dramatic fashion and then stormed out of the tasting room. Margo waited a moment, looking for all the world like an abandoned little girl.

Toby looked around. No one else seemed to have noticed the father-daughter fracas. They were busy talking and eating the food coming from the Contento kitchen. He shrugged. Hopefully Margo wouldn’t have to wait too long until her father headed for the big vineyard in the sky. After all, the guy was ancient and looking more so all the time. He helped himself to one last piece of salmon.
That funeral will be one to remember,
he thought. It wasn’t too early to come up with a special commemorative Contento drink—maybe tee shirts, too. Smiling, Toby Bliss sauntered to a new table to sample more food.

———

“Excuse me, but aren’t you Mr. Kohler?” Darby offered her hand to the big man who was balancing a glass of sparkling water and a tray laden with protein-rich foods.

He nodded. “Yes, and I believe you are the broker for Carson Creek Estate & Winery. Darby Farr?”

“That’s right. I’m hoping that we can discuss your offer on the property when the time is right.” She looked down at her hands. She’d criticized Harrison Wainfield for talking business at inappropriate times, now here she was doing the exact same thing. “I didn’t introduce myself for that reason, however. I wondered if you knew Selena Thompson personally.”

He made a thoughtful sound and gave a small nod. “I’ve known Selena for many years. We were friends in San Francisco before she moved here, and I hoped to stay in touch following her departure, but it didn’t work out that way.”

“Why not?”

He looked off to the side as if considering whether to answer. “I’d like to say something trite like, ‘Times change,’ but that wouldn’t be the truth. The fact is, I treated Leni badly and although I wanted to make amends, she didn’t want anything to do with me.” He exhaled, his face weary. He put down his plate of food as if no longer hungry.

“Where did the purchase of Selena’s vineyard come in?”

“I found out she needed funds and I thought I could help her by purchasing the property. I still feel as if that’s the case. Her soul will rest easy knowing it is well cared for.”

“I’ve heard that you plan to run one of your yoga retreat centers at Carson Creek. Would that have made Selena’s soul rest easy?”

“Oooh—your words have got quite an edge, you know that?” He narrowed his eyes. “Leni approved of my centers. She was excited about the fusion of Carson Creek’s gorgeous setting and the meditative practice of yoga. So excited, in fact, that she told me I was the winning offer.”

“She told you this before she died?”

“I went up there in the early afternoon on Thursday. Selena was happy to see me, and we agreed to finalize the details this week.”

“I see.” She looked into his eyes but they betrayed nothing. “I’m sorry for the loss of your friend, Mr. Kohler,” she said.

“Thank you.” He gave a brief nod. “Please excuse me.”

Darby watched as Fritz Kohler moved through the mourners and ducked out of the tasting room.

———

Sophie Stewart smoothed her black skirt and surveyed the groups of people embracing and saying goodbye. Funny how the day had been a mixture of sad and happy: sad when people spoke about Selena’s short life, but happy when they remembered little stories about her and her brothers or described her accomplishments as a valley businesswoman. She watched Carlos and ET as they hugged and shook hands with people heading out of the Contento’s tasting room. Both of them looked as if they needed to take long naps.

Her father approached her and his whole body appeared weary as well. “Let me take you home, Sophie Doo,” he said softly, ruffling her hair the way he always did. A mischievous twinkle came into his eye. “Or would you rather go back to school? It is Monday, after all.”

She looked up at him quickly to make sure he was kidding. “If I go back now I’ll just have gym. I might as well keep you company.”

He smiled. “I could use some company today.” He looked around the room, nodding toward Carlos and Enrico. “Let’s go back to Carson Creek with them and say goodbye.”

Sophie nodded. “What about Jasper?”

Dan Stewart thought a moment. “Darby will be there for a few more days. I guess we can think about taking him home with us after that, although he really loves the vineyard.”

Sophie grabbed her jacket and followed her father out of the tasting room. He told the Gomez brothers that he’d meet them at Carson Creek for their departure.

“That’s crazy,” Carlos said. “You’ve done so much already. Go home with Sophie and rest. Tomorrow will be a long day, right?”

Dan nodded. “We’ll start picking the grapes at dawn.”

“Take a break with your daughter, then.”

ET smiled at his brother in agreement. “Carlos is right, Dan. You have earned some time to relax. The property will be in good hands with you in charge, and Darby will be there to manage the sale.”

Dan Stewart shook hands. Sophie hugged Carlos, and then ET, trying not to notice both of the brothers’ tears.

———

Darby was in her Karmann Ghia, ready to drive back to Carson Creek, when Detective Nardone hurried up to the car. “Do you remember giving a slip of paper to one of my crime scene technicians?”

She thought back and recalled the cash register tape she’d found crumpled on the floor of the old barn. “Yes. What’s up?”

“It comes from a pharmacy in St. Adina and is date stamped
4:15 p.m. on Thursday, the day Selena was killed. One of my
officers watched the store’s video camera to see who might have stopped in. Guess who he spotted at the counter? Mr. Yoga Man, Fritz Kohler.”

“So he dropped that receipt in the barn sometime after 4:15,” Darby said.

“That’s right.”

“I asked him if he saw Selena before she died and he told me they spoke on Thursday afternoon. In fact, he claims that Selena had chosen him as Carson Creek’s new owner.”

“What is this, some strange version of a real estate game show or something?” Detective Nardone snorted. “That timing backs up what Dan said about seeing a blue car with writing passing him when he left at one.” She paused. “You know what I think? I think Fritz Kohler went up there at one, had a talk with Selena that did not go well, left Carson Creek, and headed to the drug store.”

Darby felt a chill come over her. “Detective, any idea what he purchased?”

She nodded, her face grim. “Mr. Kohler filled a prescription,” she said. “For one of the most common beta blockers, metoprolol.”

Thirteen

It was a relief
to see Carlos and ET Gomez drive away from Carson Creek. Only minutes before, Darby had watched them climb into the rental car, their eyes sunken and their expressions grim, and head down the driveway, two men who were drained, mentally and physically, from the days of dealing with Selena’s funeral preparations, as well as the vineyard. Encounters with their family members, everyone from Aunt Teresa to the smallest Gomez cousin, had rejuvenated them, and yet Darby sensed the visits had siphoned off whatever remaining energy ET and Carlos possessed.

It wasn’t just the brothers’ health that Darby considered.

As the inquiry surrounding their sister’s death developed into a full-fledged murder investigation, the presence of Carlos and ET made it difficult for the realtor to sift through the facts of the case. Had Fritz Kohler confronted Selena in the old barn and then poisoned her? Did Christophe Barton somehow fit in? As she prepared to sit down at Carson Creek’s table and review what she knew, her cell phone rang with the signature sound she had given to Miles Porter: a cavalry charge. She smiled and answered it.

“Been thinking about you.” His voice was warm and welcoming. “How did Selena’s funeral go?”

“Everything was lovely and I believe Carlos and ET were pleased.
They left a few minutes ago to head to San Francisco, and I’ve got the place to myself.”

“I don’t much like the sound of that, not with a murderer on the loose. You haven’t had any more excitement, have you?”

Darby bit her lip. “A little.”

“What happened?”

She could hear the concern in his voice as she told Miles about the explosion. He gave a low whistle.

“So it was a chap from Contento who was doing the industrial sabotage? Their wine grower?”

“Estate manager was his official title. It’s not clear whether or not he was acting alone.”

“What’s the damage to Carson Creek?”

“The red barn building is pretty much destroyed. Dan’s found another winery to handle production for this year. It will be up to Carlos and ET whether the facility is rebuilt.”

“How will that affect a sale of the property?”

“It’s not a good thing, that’s for sure. Neither is a murder investigation.” She told Miles about her conversation with Detective Nardone. “Fritz Kohler, one of the buyers for Carson Creek, went to a drugstore in St. Adina at four fifteen on Thursday, the day Selena was killed. He purchased the same medicine found in the wine bottle.”

“So he might have killed her? What’s his motive?”

“He told me that she’d picked him as Carson Creek’s new owner. Perhaps that wasn’t the case at all. Perhaps Selena told him he wasn’t getting the property.”

“The crime of passion scenario, am I right?”

“Could be. Here’s another thing: they knew each other before she moved to the valley. He admitted that it wasn’t all smooth sailing between them, and Carlos told me about seeing bruises on Selena’s arms when she was dating someone in San Francisco.”

“Kohler is the one who owned the cycling company, right? Off the Beaten Track Biking?”

“That’s right. They are headquartered in San Francisco, I think.”

“Yes. Believe it or not, I’ve seen their offices. I’ll pop down there and see what I can dig up on Kohler.” He paused. “Speaking of digging up, do you remember that I thought I’d seen the Contento family in the news?”

Darby felt her interest piquing. “Yes?”

“A few years back there was a scandal involving the sale of wine futures with several people in the valley. One of the names that popped up was ‘Contento.’”

Now it was Darby’s turn to be surprised. “Who, exactly?”

“The son of the great winemaker himself, Tim. He wasn’t charged with anything, but some of the people named were fined.”

“Interesting. I’m not quite sure I understand the whole wine futures concept. Is it like the commodities market? People bet on future grape yields?”

“Not exactly. Immature wine is purchased with the hopes that when it matures it will be worth more than what one paid. Trust me, I could give you a wonderful explanation over dinner. What do you say to my jumping in my car and heading north?”

Just when I think it can’t get any more complicated, it does
, she thought. She picked up her pencil and made a small doodle. “Sure. I’ll work on a reservation right now.”

“Already done.”

Darby had to smile. “You are pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you Mr. Porter?” Her tone grew more somber. “What about Doug? Any news from Hawaii?”

“Nothing. You must be worried that you’ll lose the buyer for his house.”

“I could care less about his buyer, Miles. I’m worried about him. I’m going to call the police in Honolulu and find out how to reach law enforcement in Sunset Beach. It’s been three days with no word. I think it’s time to let someone know.”

Now Miles’ voice was somber. “Do what you think you need to do,” he said. “Calling the authorities may be premature, but you’ve got pretty darn good instincts.” He paused. “I hope we find out he’s just off to Maui for the weekend, or sleeping off a hangover. I’ll tell you one thing: Doug’s damn lucky to have you for a friend.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll see you by five,” he said.

———

Vivian Allen read the text message from her sister with growing alarm.
Vineyard losing charm. Thinking orphanage in Africa.
An orphanage? As in little children with bulging bellies? Vivian Allen groaned and tossed her phone on the hotel bed where it settled amongst the rumpled sheets. She muted the television set so that she could think and tossed the remote as well. Veronica was always flighty, she’d been that way as a kid, and since she’d become a multimillionaire (heck, she was probably a billionaire by now) her mood swings had gotten even worse. She wasn’t the charitable type, and she didn’t even like kids, so why in the world would she want to build an orphanage half a world away?

For the same reason she wanted a vineyard,
Vivian thought. It was the new “thing to do.” If there was one thing she could say about her sister, it was that she liked to be in style, whether with her clothing, cars, boyfriends, or pet projects. A few jet-setters paving the way by helping the world’s poor in disadvantaged places made people like Veronica want to do the same thing.
Ugh.

Was it worth it to stay here and try to purchase Carson Creek? Vivian thought about the beautiful rows of vines, the mellow sun as it dropped behind the brown California hills, the amazing parties she could host as owner of a vineyard. She thought about the life she could have, and she had her answer.

Yes, it was worth it.
After everything I’ve done, I deserve Carson Creek
. She rummaged through the bed sheets to find her phone, locating the television remote in the process. She aimed it toward the TV and froze. There, on the screen, was Carson Creek’s handsome red building, smoldering, part of it in ruins.

She turned on the volume and listened intently. An explosion in the middle of the night had destroyed half the structure; the rest was severely damaged by fire. The arsonist’s body had been recovered following the blast and identified as Christophe Barton, Estate Manager for Contento Family Vineyards.

Barton!
Vivian swore and put her head in her hands.
What in the world
… She grabbed her cell phone, noticing that her hand was shaking as if she was some kind of drug addict. She scrolled back through calls until she found the one she was looking for. She exhaled, trying to stem the feeling of nausea mounting in her stomach. Two weeks ago he’d phoned and offered his services.
I know a way to help you get the vineyard,
he’d promised.

Vivian tried to think. There was nothing tying her to him, was there? So they’d spoken on the phone a few times. She hadn’t
made any kind of a commitment to him, had she? She tried to
recall her exact words, but the panic was mounting and she was having trouble concentrating.

His text last night—what had it said?
Our plan is in motion
. She felt the pit of her stomach tighten like a vise.

His apartment
. He’d told her he lived in an apartment in Wyattville. If she could somehow get into his apartment …

She grabbed her pocketbook and stuffed the phone inside. As scenes of the vineyard continued to flash across the television screen, Vivian Allen headed out.

———

It was five o’clock at the end of a mild autumn Monday and Andrea Contento was exhausted. Preparations for the funeral had been more tiring than she’d anticipated, and the service itself had been a grueling blur. So many of the Gomez relatives had sought her out, both to thank her for Selena’s lovely service, and to speak with her about their lost relative, that she had finally had to hide in the kitchen to escape. The enormity of Selena’s death was finally hitting her, settling on her shoulders like an overloaded backpack.

And then there was the death of Christophe Barton.

Andrea leaned against her granite countertops and pictured the arrogant Frenchman, so cocky that he was almost a caricature of himself. Would she miss him? She hadn’t enjoyed seeing his resentment toward Michael grow, his insistence that he, Christophe Barton, was the one trained in the fields of Bourgogne, that
bien sûr,
he was the ultimate authority on everything having to do with a grape …

She put her head in her hands. Chris was gone, a victim of his own explosive device.
What a waste.

Time heals all wounds
, she whispered, recalling a saying that had hung on a small trivet in her parents’ house. She sighed and wondered if she should go over her list of tasks for the annual wine auction. There was still so much to do, and it was only three weeks away. Now she and Margo would have to assume a few of Barton’s tasks as well.
Face it, you’ll never concentrate tonight
, she thought. Instead she left the kitchen for the patio, where she sat down with a magazine, determined to relax.

The air was still, as if waiting for something to happen. Not a breeze ruffled the olive trees, not a bird song broke the quiet. She opened the magazine, put her feet on a chair, and tried to block out everything else.

———

Sophie Stewart took her cell phone off the charger and called her grandmother’s number. In their last conversation, the older woman had given kind, but vague, answers to Sophie’s questions about her mother’s death. Sophie knew it was a difficult discussion for the elderly woman, and yet she was fourteen and old enough to know the truth. She heard her grandmother’s pleasant hello and her heart began to beat. Haltingly, she asked the question she could not stop pondering.

“You’re sure you want to hear this, Sophia?” Her grandmother was the only one who called her by her full name, and Sophie couldn’t resist a quick grin.

“Yes, Grandma. You know I can’t ask Dad, and I think it’s time I know the details.”

Frances Kinney was a determined woman who had run the family farm almost singlehandedly for going on twenty years, and her granddaughter shared her chief character trait of persistence. Sophie hoped that her grandmother knew her well enough to sense that changing the subject or pussyfooting around wasn’t going to work with this teen. She heard the older woman take a deep breath.

“Very well then.”

Sophie waited, holding her breath.

“You know that your mother was having some troubles,” she began. “A case of the blues, is what I thought at first, but it turned out to be much more serious. Her doctor was trying to help her come out of her depression by giving her some different medications.” She paused and Sophie felt guilty for making her tell the story. “Well, one night Natalie couldn’t sleep and went into the bathroom. She must have mixed up what she was doing, and she took too much of one of the medicines. Your dad found her the next morning. Poor Natalie was dead.”

Sophie felt as if all the air had left her body. “She overdosed on some of her medicines, is that what you are saying, Grandma?”

“Yes.” She made a sighing noise. “I’m sorry sweetie. I’ll go to my grave convinced it was an accident, because your mother loved you too much to do something like that to herself.”

Somehow Sophie managed to thank her grandmother, adding a story about needing to hang up so that she could meet a friend. Frances Kinney wanted to talk more, Sophie could tell, and yet the stricken girl could not bear to speak.

Instead her mind raced with thoughts of her father and Selena Thompson. The image of all those orange-capped pill containers filled her brain. What if Detective Nardone found out about her mother’s death, so similar to Selena’s? Would the search for a murderer begin and end right here in her own house, with her father hauled away in handcuffs?

He hadn’t killed her, she was sure of it, just as he hadn’t killed the love of his life ten years ago. But the police might come to a different conclusion.
Detective Nardone wants a murderer. She could finger Dad and be done with it.

Sophie felt her fear turning to resolve.
I know what I need to do.

———

Darby pondered her very limited wardrobe with a frown. Since arriving at Carson Creek with only a change of clothes, she’d allowed herself a trip to a small clothing boutique in Wyattville to find something for Selena’s funeral, but now she was once more in need of an outfit. She glanced at her watch. The store was open for a half-hour more and it would take fifteen minutes to drive there. She gave a small smile. Fifteen minutes to find something fabulous?
Plenty of time.

———

Andrea Contento was awakened from her doze at the patio table by a scream. Instantly she was wide awake, her senses alert for the source of the anguished sound.
The tasting room.
She sprang to her feet and began running.

Twenty yards from the building, she saw the door fly open and Margo Contento emerge, a wild look on her face. “It’s Dad,” she cried, her voice rising in hysteria.