Deadly Offer (16 page)

———

Dan Stewart put down the phone’s receiver and sank onto an upholstered chair. Tim’s voice had been clear and strong as he gave the news of his father’s passing, quick to note that although the great man was lost to the winemaking community, his legacy at Contento and throughout the valley would continue. “And I want you to know, Dan,” he said, his voice beginning to waver. “If things don’t work out with Carson Creek’s new owner, we’d love to have
you back.” He tried to chuckle. “Who knows? Maybe we will end up owning it after all, and you can keep on doing what you’re doing.”

Dan thanked him and hung up. His mind reeled with images of Michael at one event after another, or striding through the rows of his beloved grapes. He remembered Michael’s joy at Selena’s silly jokes. Both of them, gone in one week: two people he had respected and enjoyed.

Of course Christophe Barton was also dead, but Dan could feel nothing but anger for the man who had tried to ruin Carson Creek. Why had he acted in such a way? Was he motivated by greed? Revenge? Or was he just plain crazy? Dan doubted if he would ever know the reason for Barton’s actions. The fact that the vineyard was still standing was a minor miracle.

Dan climbed the stairs and listened for noise from the other side of Sophie’s closed door, but it was quiet. Too early for her to have gone to bed—most likely she was lying on her floor, listening to music. He could tell her in the morning about Michael Contento. No need to ruin her night at this point.

He continued down the hallway to his bedroom. Tomorrow at dawn the harvesting crew would be at Carson Creek, and he needed a good night’s sleep in preparation. With any luck, they’d get most of the fields picked in a few days, and then wrap up what was left later in the week. Dan went over the details in his mind. Due to the damage caused by the explosion, the grapes would be crushed and the juice stored at a neighboring facility. It was a temporary solution and Dan hoped it would work.

He yawned and opened the door to his room, his sense of purpose back in focus.
My job is to produce the best wine possible, and I owe it to Selena—and to the memory of Michael Contento—to do just that
. With that thought in mind, he crawled into bed, and although it was early, soon fell asleep.

———

The door shut behind Detective Nardone and Darby turned an incredulous face to Miles. “I can’t believe it. Michael Contento had a heart attack.”

“It happens, especially when one is pushing eighty.” He carried the coffee cups into the kitchen and began rinsing them out.

“You don’t think it is at all strange given what’s been going on?”

Miles shrugged. “No. Michael struck me as a vigorous guy in good health, but he did have a minor heart attack last year. And you can’t say this past week hasn’t been stressful for that family. According to what his daughter describes, it sounds like what happened was the classic myocardial infarction.”

“Ummm.” Darby put the cream back into the refrigerator. “I suppose I’m so frustrated by this case that I’m starting to imagine things.”

“Such as?” Miles turned, still washing dishes, his face inquisitive.

“Maybe Michael discovered who killed Selena and that’s why he died. He was arguing with Margo just before the attack. He might have been accusing her, or telling her about someone else.”

“Andrea or Tim, for instance.”

“Exactly.” She shook her head. “I know she’s trying, but Detective Nardone doesn’t seem to be making any real progress. I feel like the investigation is stalled, and now the window of time to solve this case has come and gone.” She made an exasperated sound. “Listen to me, like I’m some kind of expert detective or something.” She ran a hand through her glossy black hair. “I shouldn’t be critical, but I know this wasn’t a suicide. Somebody added that metoprolol to Selena’s wine.” She pointed. “The bottle was sitting right there on the counter, Miles. Right there.”

He turned off the water and followed her finger to the spot. “You realize that our poisoner could have come anytime during the day, or even the night before, for that matter. Does Dan recall anyone else coming by Carson Creek?”

“No, but he wasn’t here the entire time. He was in the fields and also running errands in town.”

“The thing is, that person may have waltzed right in with Selena’s blessing, right? All the time they would have needed to poison the wine was a few seconds. She could have been in the bathroom, or getting something from the living room, and she wouldn’t have known.”

“That’s true.” Her brow was furrowed. She pushed her long black hair off her face and turned a troubled face toward him. “Who wanted Selena Thompson dead, so badly that they brought the crushed metoprolol to her property and put it in the wine?” She shook her head in frustration. “It’s time to solve this murder before anyone else gets hurt.”

He hung up the dishtowel and rested his hands on her shoulders, pulling her slender body toward his. “I know you want to figure out who killed Selena, and I know you’ll succeed. But even the best detectives take breaks now and then. What if we forget about the murder for a while and get to know each other better?” He pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “I’ve only got a little time before I head back to San Francisco. That is, unless I’m invited to stay here?”

“Hmm … I’ll have to think about that.”

“Maybe you’ll think better after this?” He pulled her face gently toward his and kissed her on the lips. She felt his longing and wanted to melt into him.

“Miles, you know I would love your company, but not here. This isn’t my home—it would be awkward.”

He kissed her again. “Are you sure?”

She felt like slipping into the warm embrace of the kiss.
Forget the murder, Doug’s disappearance, and the events of the past few days.
She felt like forgetting it all and losing herself in Miles’ gentle touch. It would be so easy …

Instead she pulled away. “I’m sorry—I just don’t feel comfortable.”

“Let me change that.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I love your persistence.”

“I’m glad somebody does, because I’m getting damn sick of it.” He flashed a wan grin, but Darby thought she detected a slight edge in his voice.

“You know what I mean, Miles. There are times when it’s right,
and times when it isn’t.” The explanation sounded lame, even to her ears. “This place …” She swept her hand around the room, taking
in Selena Thompson’s treasured possessions. “I can’t.”

“Okay, I get that. My dumb mistake. Let me find a little place, then.”

Romance.
She wanted it, too. She longed to brush her hand through his cropped hair, explore the planes of his chiseled face, and nestle into his woodsy, clean scent. She wanted it all—but not tonight.

She exhaled and saw a look of wounded pride cross his face. Gently he removed his hands from her shoulders and held up one finger.

“Don’t say it, Darby, because I have a feeling I’ve heard it before.” He rose to his feet with a long sigh.

“You have urgent matters calling for your attention.” His tone was light, but the words sounded clipped. “I understand that, because believe it or not, I do, too.” He walked across the room to the door. At the threshold, he turned slowly to face her. “Let me know when you can make me one of your priorities.”

She watched him walk out the door and into the night.

———

A knock on her bedroom door roused Andrea Contento from her daze. She stood, shook her head a little to clear it, and went to the door.

“Hey.” It was Margo, wearing a robe and slippers. “I went to my house and grabbed a few things. I thought I’d stay in one of the extra rooms tonight so you wouldn’t be alone.”

“Thanks.” Andrea opened the door wider. “Come in. I was just sitting here trying to wrap my head around the fact that he’s really gone. I know it’s still early, but I’m exhausted.”

“Me, too.” Margo padded into the room and walked to her father’s bureau. She fingered his pocket watch, which had sat in the same spot on his dresser since she was a little girl. “He loved this thing,” she said, lifting the gold chain and feeling the heft of the timepiece in her hand. “It was his father’s, I guess. He told me once that he never would have inherited it if his older brother hadn’t been killed in Vietnam.”

“That’s true,” commented Andrea, thinking of the vineyard itself. “David’s death put your father on a whole different course, one which I know he grew to love.” She gave a sad smile and wiped her eyes. “He wasn’t pleased at first, we all know that. I know from the way he spoke about it that he loved his life as a university professor. But he was a part of this land and a part of this place. It was surely in his very being. I don’t think he regretted the way his life turned out.”

Margo nodded slowly. “I know he was happy. That’s why it puzzles me so much to think about his last words. ‘Ahab’s life.’ What did he mean? Was he saying he regretted not staying in academia?”

Again Andrea flashed a small smile. “I’ve been thinking about it as well. Captain Ahab spent his life chasing the white whale, right? So what was your father’s ‘white whale’? What was his biggest challenge?”

“Making the perfect Pinot?” Margo guessed. “Honestly, I can’t come up with anything.”

“Maybe that is part of what he was saying. His search for perfection as a vintner was as futile as the whaler’s in chasing Moby Dick.” She crossed over to Margo and put a hand on her shoulder. “Or maybe he was just having a passing thought. Maybe he didn’t intend for us to be sitting here and analyzing his words.”

“Maybe.” She sighed. “Are you okay? Staying here, I mean?” Margo indicated the bedroom with a sweep of her hand.

Andrea nodded. “I miss him so badly it is like a physical pain. But I also feel his presence.” She pointed at the top of the dresser. “Things like that watch. I saw him pick it up and hold it so many times. It gives me comfort in a strange way.”

Margo sighed. She started toward the bedroom door but suddenly stopped.

“I told you that we were arguing just before Dad collapsed.”

Andrea nodded. “Margo, I hope you don’t think any of this was your fault. His heart was weakened by the last attack.”

“I know. But we fought earlier in the day as well.”

Andrea Contento frowned. “I don’t get it. What was he so upset about? Can you tell me?”

Margo paused, considering the request. Finally she bit her lip and admitted, “He wanted to know why I killed Selena Thompson.”

———

Darby brushed her teeth in a kind of a fog. First she’d heard the news about Doug, who was safe in a Honolulu hospital, although in what kind of shape she didn’t really know. Next Miles had departed after issuing some strong words regarding their relationship.
Was that our first fight? Perhaps our only one if I never see him again.

Is that what I want?
She really wasn’t sure. She liked Miles. She was very attracted to him and had been since the first time she’d seen him. He was kind, smart, and funny, not to mention sexy as hell.
Why would I risk losing such a good man?

Darby knew that she kept a big chunk of herself behind lock and key. Since her teen years and her parents’ accident, she’d mastered the art of keeping people at a distance. She remained friendly; but not really friends. She toyed with the idea of a serious relationship and yet never let anything evolve that far.

Miles was different. Rather than run from her barriers, he was trying to break them down. And yet even someone as patient as Miles would have his limits.
Perhaps he’s already reached his
, she thought.
That’s why he left.
She rinsed out her mouth and regarded her reflection. Miles undoubtedly had other women who found him attractive …

Darby finished in the bathroom and walked into the guest bedroom. She picked up her phone and found Miles’ number. As she willed herself to call, she heard a rapping on the downstairs door.

Darby frowned. The phone landed on the bed with a soft thump as she headed down the stairs.

———

The Power Yoga hour had begun and Harrison Wainfield sat transfixed before the television, watching his new client with growing admiration. The man was certainly flexible—he’d give him that—and yet he was incredibly strong, as well. Wainfield watched as Fritz Kohler effortlessly balanced on one arm, twisted himself into an impossibly contorted pose, and then sprang to his feet in a warrior stance, all the while encouraging his viewers to do the same. “Feel your inner strength,” Kohler chanted. “Feel the power of yoga transforming your muscles and your life.”

Wainfield reached over and shut off the television.
Inner strength
my ass
. He looked at the offer he’d drafted for the purchase of Carson Creek Estate & Winery. This was the true power: the ability to purchase property without regard to cost. This was where inner strength really derived.

He lifted a glass of Contento Family Vineyards Reserve Merlot to his lips and took a satisfying swallow. It was going to be a pleasure to see someone besides the Contento family getting what they wanted. After they’d stuck him with paying off that Sleepy Spaniel mess! And now that Michael was dead …

A thought occurred to him that stopped him in his tracks.

Now that Michael was dead, Andrea was available. He stroked his goatee and pondered the lateness of the hour. Andrea was now
a widow requiring comfort. Perhaps Fritz Kohler’s offer could wait.

Fifteen

Vivian Allen stood in
the darkness, knocking repeatedly on the weathered farmhouse door.

Darby pulled it open, immediately noting the woman’s mussed hair and pale complexion.
She’s frightened
, Darby thought.

“I know it’s late, but I wondered …”

Darby moved to the side and beckoned. “Come in, Ms. Allen.”

“Just call me Vivian.” She took a hesitant step, glancing around the house as if hoping no one else was present.

“Let’s take a seat in the living room, Vivian. Can I fix you a cup of tea?”

The tall woman followed Darby and perched on the sofa, clearly
ill at ease. “No,” she stammered. “No, thank you.”

“What can I do for you?”

Vivian bit her lip and sighed. “I need to talk to someone about this whole thing.” She motioned with her hand around the room.

“You mean your purchase of Carson Creek?”

“Yes.”

“I’m happy to try and help but I do want to remind you that I represent the sellers of this property, Enrique and Carlos Gomez.”

“I know, I know.” She closed her eyes. “I understand all that and I don’t think it really matters anymore.”

She leaned back on the pillows of the sofa and was quiet for a few moments. “Remember when you asked me if I had a business partner?”

Darby nodded.

“I lied to you. My sister Veronica is my partner on this venture. Or at least she was.”

“Go on.”

She sat up and took a deep breath. “Veronica isn’t too excited about owning a vineyard anymore, but I think I could swing it on my own if need be.”

“I see.”

“It’s been my dream to do this kind of thing, even before I became sick. I love the idea of having my own business, of producing something that I can be proud of. I had some good long talks with Selena about it, and I know she felt comfortable turning over this place to me.”

She sighed. “I wish she had signed the offer before she died. I wish she had told someone else—like Dan Stewart—that she intended me to be the new owner. I feel like you don’t believe me and now that you know about Veronica, you’ll hold that against me as well.”

“It’s not up to me, Vivian. It’s up to my sellers.”

“Oh, I know that, but I also know they’re going to listen to you, which is why I hoped you’d hear me out.”

“Were you keeping Veronica’s involvement secret because you thought it would jeopardize the sale?”

She nodded. “I suppose the kind of celebrity my sister enjoys is frightening to most people. It’s the kind of thing where her houses are protected by guards and yet paparazzi are always waiting when she pulls out the gated driveway. She can’t live any semblance of a normal life. Did you see the little article in the paper? People in the valley are already panicked just thinking about having her here. And if I’m completely honest with myself, I guess I can see why. Veronica doesn’t just move to a house. She
invades
a whole county.”

“That can’t be easy.”

“Oh, she’s used to it. It comes with the kind of high wattage stardom she loves, so there you have it.” She stood and walked to a window, looking out upon the dark vines. “Selena knew about Veronica. She was worried her involvement would change the character of Carson Creek. I listened to her concerns and privately I agreed with them. I think I hoped my sister would lose interest and back out entirely, which is what she seems to be doing.”

She turned from the window. “I may borrow funds from her, but I will be the sole owner of Carson Creek, and I’m happy to take it even with the damage to the red building.”

Darby nodded. An insurance agent was due the next day to take a look at the wreckage. Knowing that Vivian Allen was still interested despite the explosion would be a comfort to Carlos and ET.

“What about Carlos working for Veronica?”

She colored. “You know about that?” Seeing Darby’s quick nod, Vivian rolled her eyes. “Okay, so I don’t feel good about using a job offer as a bribe, but I was desperate. And the truth of it is, Carlos is very good. He can have a job with Veronica if that’s what he wants—regardless if I get this property or not.”

“There is still the matter of Selena’s death,” Darby said quietly. “Until that is settled—”

“What do you mean? Surely now that the service is over, her brothers are willing to sell.”

Darby remembered her admonition from Detective Nardone. Should she mention the circumstances of Selena’s death, or stay quiet?

“There may be some investigation around Selena’s cause of death,” she said. “There was a high level of beta blockers in Selena’s blood. An abnormally high level.”

Vivian Allen walked slowly to the couch and rested her hand on it. “Ever since I heard she drowned in the hot tub, I’ve been wondering if that were the case,” she said softly. “But I can’t believe she would have done it.”

“What are you talking about, Vivian?” Darby’s tone was sharp.

“The beta blockers … and the hot tub …” she closed her eyes. “I read about it in a novel. A woman with a terminal illness ended her life by overdosing on beta blockers and then getting in a hot tub.”

“Did you tell Selena about this novel?”

“I did. We joked about how it would be such a great way to go, to be relaxing in a hot tub and then just slip away.”

Darby looked into Vivian Allen’s eyes. “Vivian, do you really think that your telling Selena about this—this
technique
—would have influenced her so strongly that she would have committed suicide?”

Vivian’s face was suddenly chalky. “I don’t know.”

“Did she say anything more about it after that conversation?”

“Yes,” she said dully. “She asked me to lend her the book.”

“And did you give it to her?”

She nodded. “I didn’t have it with me, but I found a copy on sale at the big bookstore outside of Ventano. I gave it to her last week.” She put her head back in anguish. “She said she needed something good to read. I never thought—”

“Come with me,” Darby commanded, taking the farmhouse stairs two at a time. The saying Selena had stenciled on the old stairs —
With wine and hope, anything is possible—
seemed like a mockery now. In Selena’s bedroom, Darby flicked on the light. Several books were stacked on the bedside table, and Darby picked them up.

“Well?”

“This is it,” Vivian whispered, pointing at one of the books.

It was a paperback novel, what the publishers called “chick lit” from the look of the cover. Darby opened to a dog-eared page and scanned the text. Her eyes caught the words “beta blocker,” “blood pressure,” “hot tub,” and “drown,” before she looked into Vivian’s stricken face.

“It’s my fault,” she said, sinking onto the bed. “I told her how to do it.” She looked up at Darby. “I killed Selena Thompson.”

———

Nancy Nardone closed the door behind Vivian Allen and regarded Darby Farr.

“Well?” she asked after a few moments. “Do you still think suicide is out of the question? It sounds like Selena was influenced by the plot of this book and decided to try it.” The detective waved the novel in her hand. “She wouldn’t be the first person to do something stupid that she read about.”

Darby stood with a hand on her hip. She’d called Detective Nardone to come and speak with Vivian, and had heard the distraught woman relay much the same information she had told Darby minutes before.

“I know Selena was in a bad situation, dealing with a difficult and very painful illness, and I suppose she could have seen suicide as an alternative,” she said carefully. “But I think several things are all wrong about it.”

“Such as?”

“First off, the timing. I’m no expert on motives for suicide, but why would Selena end her life when she was just about to sell the vineyard and make a big pile of money? According to Dan Stewart, she wasn’t morose about the sale—she was pleased. He said she was proud that she’d built up a business that could attract so many eager buyers.”

The detective nodded. “True enough. What else?”

“Okay, the metoprolol in her empty bottle of wine. Why would Selena have added it to the bottle when it would be so much easier to stir it into her glass? Doesn’t first pouring the wine, and then adding the chemical into the glass make the most sense?”

“Maybe she wanted more than one glass.”

“We can check with Dr. Yang, but I think that was impossible. The amount in there would have worked quickly to cause lightheadedness. Besides, Dan Stewart said she was pretty rigid about only having one glass of wine a night.”

“Yes, but if it’s your last night …”

“I see what you are saying, but I still don’t think it makes sense.”

“Maybe this wasn’t her first attempt. Maybe she had tried the night before, which was why it was in the bottle.”

Darby considered. “Yes, but then why not leave a note? Why leave the business of selling the vineyard unfinished? I tell you, Detective, I really do not believe that woman wanted to die.”

Nancy Nardone sighed. “Then we are right back at square one. Who wanted Selena Thompson dead?”

———

Contrary to what her father believed, Sophie Stewart was not in her room sleeping, nor was she reading a book or flipping the pages of the latest teen magazine. She was quietly using her laptop to instant message her friend Whitney, a fellow candy striper whose mother was best friends with Margo Contento.

Whitney had started the conversation by dropping the bombshell that Michael Contento was dead, a statement that Sophie simultaneously corroborated by using another window while she was waiting for Whitney to instant message her back. The eager teen had then confided that Michael had argued with his daughter Margo before succumbing to his fatal heart attack, and that Margo was a basket case because of it. Thanks to her mother’s penchant for repeating each statement she heard over the phone before pausing to respond herself, Whitney had eavesdropped on the entire conversation. She even knew the odd words Michael Contento had uttered with his final breath.

Ahab’s life.

Sophie pondered the phrase after she’d signed off with Whitney. The famous winemaker had been a professor—that much Sophie knew by having spent time in his immense library. She recalled the twinkle in his eye when she’d stared, open-mouthed, at the tall shelves of books, and his genuine delight when he’d handed her a picture book and told her to choose a comfy chair. “Go ahead, read it,” he’d coaxed. “I’ll get Andrea to bring you some of her chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk.”

Sophie scanned the shelf where the picture book was stacked with a few others. Michael had insisted she take it home as a gift. “Books give many pleasures,” he’d said. “One pleasure is in reading them. Another is in sharing them with others.”

He had been a nice man. A very nice man, really. She knew that her father would be upset when he learned of his death in the morning. She shut off her computer, brushed her sandy hair from her face, and turned off her light.
I won’t let this distract me,
she vowed to the darkness.
I won’t let it stop me from finding Selena Thompson’s killer.

She thought back to the night she’d taken the wine bottle. Who had been at Carson Creek to pay their respects? More importantly, who had been missing?

———

Tuesday morning dawned bright and warm, and Darby opened her eyes to the first rays of the sun and the chatter of voices down in the driveway. She rose and peered out the window. Groups of men were clustered on the pavement, talking quietly and smoking cigarettes, their hands clutching cups of coffee. She watched as Dan Stewart strode up to the men, his body language relaxed and welcoming. He greeted a few of the men by name and even exchanged a few pleasantries in Spanish.

Darby pulled on some clothes and headed down the farmhouse stairs. She poured a cup of coffee into a pale blue mug and scooped some dry cat food into a bowl for Jasper. Then she slipped on a pair of sandals and a sweatshirt and headed outside.

Dan smiled when he saw her coming. A few of the pickers looked curious, even a little suspicious, but they said nothing and quickly resumed conversation among themselves.

“Come to see the start of the harvest?” Dan asked, shielding his eyes from the rising sun.

“I thought I’d check it out, yes.” She indicated the assembled men. “Quite a few people here to lend a hand.”

He nodded. “Some of these guys have been coming here for years. They make the rounds of the vineyards, helping out where they can. They’re a hardworking bunch, all of them.” His pleasant expression dimmed. “Michael Contento died yesterday,” he said softly. “Heart attack.”

“Yes, I heard. I’m sorry, Dan. I know he was your friend.”

“Yeah. Well, his death is a loss, no doubt about it, but he lived a good long life. I’m glad he died at his vineyard, and with his daughter. You can’t ask for much better than that.”

Darby flashed to an image of Selena, alone in her hot tub, and wondered if Dan was thinking the same thing. She said, “I’m going to speak with Fritz Kohler today—at least that’s my plan—and see where he’s at regarding Carson Creek. The insurance adjuster will be here as well.”

Dan exhaled. “Yeah, life goes on.” He surveyed the fields, squinting against the sun. “Tim’s coming by in a little bit. I think he just wants to talk. If he’s having trouble reaching me, would you let him know to call my cell?”

“Sure.” She watched as he gave a little wave and then whistled to get the attention of the pickers. They moved as a mass to follow him toward the old barn. The harvesting had begun.

———

The “send” button on his e-mail now pushed, Toby Bliss leaned back in his chair and let out a satisfying sigh. He’d pulled an all-nighter to get the Michael Contento Memorial tee-shirts designed, and now they were ordered and would arrive just in time for the Valley Wine Auction.

He allowed himself a long yawn. He’d made some good money off the Contento family over the years, thanks to their visibility in the wine world and their penchant for throwing party after party. He ticked off some of the more lucrative projects he’d masterminded: the posters he’d had printed up of various vineyard events, the sweatshirts advertising their charity run to benefit Ventano Valley Community Hospital, and even the hysterical calendar of snapshots of various wine country personalities in Halloween costumes. He smirked, remembering some of the memorable images: Dan Stewart dressed in a werewolf getup; Nicole Franchi from Black Stallion Winery wearing a nun’s habit; Tim Contento as Marilyn Monroe. The calendar had been a bestseller among the locals.