Dying for a Dude (Laurel McKay Mysteries Book 4) (24 page)

It was difficult to smile, but I forced a toothy grin at my ex. “Are they treating you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure, it could be worse,” he replied, his voice barely audible.

“The kids say hi.”

Hank’s face perked up at the mention of our children. “I can’t believe I’m sitting in a dark cell all day when I could be playing ball with Ben and helping Jenna with her homework.”

This probably wasn’t the time to remind Hank that Jenna’s academic prowess already surpassed his. My job description involved boosting his morale.

“I went to Spencer’s memorial on Thursday. You should have seen it. Tacky, tacky.” I shared an abbreviated version of the chapel service as well as the reception held at Janet Spencer’s house. I also mentioned my attempts to grill some of the suspects on my list.

“Laurel, you need to be careful when you’re questioning people,” he said, his eyes worried.

“I am.” Well, as careful as one can be when attempting to solve a murder. “I spoke with Doug Blake today, and he basically confessed that he threatened Spencer when he got the eviction notice. He seemed angry with you, too.”

“Yeah, I felt bad I couldn’t give Doug advance notice, but if I had, Spencer woulda fired me. I don’t think Spencer wanted the news to come out before the election, in case it impacted his image. Made him seem unsympathetic.”

As far as I could tell, Darius Spencer could have used a busload of image consultants. But he didn’t need to worry about that now.

“I saw the building plans for the hotel,” I said to Hank.

“Did you go to my apartment? How did you get in?”

“I sort of, inadvertently, found myself in Spencer’s home office. Long story. Anyway, I can see why he wanted the additional space for his hotel. It makes a lot of sense. But what would Doug have done about moving the book store if Spencer hadn’t been killed before the thirty days were up?”

Hank and I stared at each other.

“Doug hung out that night in the bar, along with almost every merchant in town,” he said. “I don’t recall much, but I think he was throwing down the drinks as fast as me.”

“He could have lured Spencer to the hotel for an early morning meeting,” I mused.

Hank slowly nodded. “Yeah, but I hate to think Doug would commit murder over something like that.”

“We’re talking about his livelihood, you know.”

“I guess. Say, I’ve been meaning to ask you something. Will Tricia automatically win the Supervisor election since no one’s running against her?”

I shook my head. “No, Chad Langdon stepped into Spencer’s shoes.” And possibly his bedroom slippers.

Hank frowned. “That’s strange.”

“Why?”

“Chad isn’t a proponent of the no-growth platform. I happen to know he owns a percentage of that huge Six Springs subdivision Phil McKinley wants to develop.”

“Is that public knowledge?”

“I doubt it. Chad stopped by the hotel one day looking for Spencer. I showed him around, and he seemed impressed with the workmanship. He mentioned he was a silent partner in that subdivision. Chad said they would be hiring construction superintendents once the county approved the project.”

Interesting. Chad Langdon’s bedfellows were becoming odder and odder.

“Phil McKinley is a longtime client of Hangtown Bank,” I said. “I wonder if the bank is financing the project.”

“Could be.” Hank dropped his chin on his hands. “Does any of this matter? If the judge doesn’t set a reasonable amount for bail, I could be stuck here until the trial. Big Jack, my cellmate, told me I’m cuter than Neil Patrick Harris.” Hank’s voice grew loud and shrill. “The big oaf refers to me as his
cupcake
. I keep telling Jack I’m not that cute.”

The guard grabbed Hank’s arms and pulled him away from the glass. Hank threw me an “I screwed up again” parting glance over his shoulder as the officer prodded him out of the room. I blew out of the jail, charged with energy and fear. I needed to solve this case fast.

Before my ex-husband became Big Jack’s BFF!

Saturday evening, my friends and I gathered at Mountain High Winery, admiring the panoramic vista of the Sacramento valley below us, as well as the vista of rich desserts in front of us.

The sun painted the western sky in brilliant shades of pink, rose and coral, presenting the perfect backdrop for Stan and his new iridescent hot pink cowboy shirt. I hoped Stan didn’t commit any kind of offense that would land him in jail tonight because Big Jack, Hank’s cellmate, would definitely upgrade my friend to full cupcake status.

“I’m probably going to regret this question,” I said to Stan as I reached for an iced cookie with thick frosting that matched Stan’s western wear, “and this dessert, but where did you find that shirt?”

“Oh, this old thing?” Stan gazed down at his chest with pure adoration. “I got it on eBay for only ninety dollars. What a steal!” I agreed with his assessment except that the eBay seller was the one who committed internet robbery.

I turned to Liz who was either kissing Brian or licking frosting off his cheek. “How much longer before we go on stage? I’m stress eating enough to use up my calorie quota for the month. Are you sure you can’t perform without me?”

She checked her slim gold watch. “The Sassy Saloon Gals perform when the Country Rollers take their break in a half hour. Go get a glass of wine. That should calm your nerves.”

“I don’t know how I let you talk me into performing at this event,” I muttered.

“Because you’re so charitable and kind?” Liz responded.

Stan smiled and mouthed the word “sucker” in my direction.

It takes one to know one.

I decided to heed Liz’s suggestion and wandered over to one of the temporary bars set up on Mountain High’s enormous flagstone patio. The winery didn’t stint on anything when it came to visitor comfort. I mulled over whether having a supervisor in their back pocket, so to speak, would be hugely beneficial for the family business.

Which made me think about the grant deed for the winery property I’d spotted on Spencer’s desk. This plot seemed to be thickening faster than my waistline. There were more questions swirling in my mind than there were guests swirling glasses of the winery’s award-winning ruby-red petite syrah. Deep in thought, I didn’t notice the heavyset man charging in my direction, a glass of red wine in his hand.

Crash! My dance training came in handy as I spun around, managing to remain upright. Unfortunately, the wine in my attacker’s goblet continued to twirl. The heady liquid spilled onto my over-exposed chest, plastering my sequined top to my skin.

“Pay attention where you’re going,” said the seriously balding, barrel-chested man, scowling at me. The tufts of black hair sprouting from his open shirt shimmered with red wine droplets.

I could match him scowl for scowl. “I’m sorry, but you were the one who charged into me.”

He frowned then his gaze dropped to the accident site. “Whatever. Can I help you um, clean up?” he offered, looking like he would welcome the opportunity to lick the spilled wine off my bosom. “Here, let me make it up to you.” He dropped his empty goblet on a picnic table. “I’ll buy you a glass of wine.”

He chortled at his comment and stuck out a sticky palm. “Phil McKinley.” I met his wine-soaked palm with my own, marveling at the coincidence of running into the developer Hank had mentioned earlier. Considering that Chad Langdon and Phil McKinley were silent partners, I guess it wasn’t that much of a coincidence he would also be attending this fundraiser.

“It’s nice to formally meet you,” I said, although I could think of better methods of introduction than being splattered with syrah. I grabbed a stack of napkins from a table and proceeded to clean off the wine. “I work at Hangtown Bank, so I’ve handled some of your construction loans in the past.”

“Good bank to deal with,” he replied. His beefy arm curled like a boa constrictor around my waist as he guided me back to the bar. “I should stop by more often, sweetcakes, now that I know you work there.”

Yuck. It was bad enough that Big Jack was salivating over my ex-husband. Now I, too, had been relegated to the tasty pastry shelf. I shifted and managed to elude Phil’s grasping hands. I planned to throw a few questions at him then escape his clammy clutches.

“I heard you’re developing a new subdivision the bank will be financing,” I said. “How soon will you begin construction?”

He touched an index finger to his fleshy lips. “Just between you and me, we should be good to go by the first of July.”

“That’s terrific news. So your development has already been approved by the county?”

Phil winked. “In a manner of speaking.” We moved to the head of the line, gave our wine choices to the bartender then returned to the patio. A server proffered a tray of garlic and goat cheese appetizers. I nibbled on one, while Phil gobbled down half a dozen.

Specks of goat cheese dotted the developer’s pudgy jaw. I handed him an extra napkin while I tried to think of a subtle way to discuss Spencer’s murder with him. Scott Shelton, Chad Langdon and Janet Spencer, who never seemed to be more than an inch from the winery owner’s side, interrupted our conversation.

Janet wore a stunning emerald-green brocade gown. Her dress perfectly replicated nineteenth-century fashion down to the bustle and lace trimmed sleeves. The costume fit her slim body like a kid glove.

In my scarlet sequined top and satin skirt, I felt like nineteenth-century trailer trash in comparison. Chad wore basic cowboy attire, a plain denim shirt and jeans, looking like a regular fellow––the kind of man you wanted to represent your supervisorial district.

Scott Shelton was imposing in all black––black shirt, leather vest, jeans, boots, and hat. I admired that the Wagon Train participant took his costuming seriously, even in ninety-degree heat.

Phil McKinley greeted the newcomers, nudging the candidate’s elbow as he introduced me. “Hey, Chad, buddy, have you met this pretty lady? She works at Hangtown Bank and is going to help with the loan on Six Springs. Say, I didn’t get your name, sweetheart.”

Chad interrupted before I could respond. “I’ve known Laurel for years. Her ex-husband, Hank, is the man who killed Janet’s husband.”

Phil’s wine glass hovered an inch from his lips when he received this news.

“What?” He flung his right arm out, and I received my second syrah shower of the day. This was getting ridiculous. Janet reached into a small Mary Frances designer purse and pulled out a tissue for me. I dabbed at my top but only succeeded in adding clumps of white lint to my wet chest. Could this evening get any worse?

“Sorry, babe. Hey, how come you didn’t tell me you were married to the guy they arrested for killing Spencer?”

“And how come neither of you informed the voters that Chad has a silent ownership in the Six Springs subdivision?” I replied, pleased to see the startled looks on both Chad and Phil’s faces. I hoped my announcement demonstrated that this Sassy Saloon Gal was no slouch of a sleuth.

“Besides, Hank did not kill Spencer.” I scowled at them. “And I’m going to prove it.”

Scott maintained his tall silent cowboy image, merely lifting a bushy eyebrow in response to my declaration.

I would have loved to stick around and grill the men, but after peering at my wine-soaked top, I could tell my priorities lay elsewhere. “I need to find a ladies room. I’m performing in fifteen minutes.”

Chad pointed to a row of green Porta Potties.

Oh, ick.

Janet shook her old-fashioned ringlets at him. “Chad, those are disgusting. Let her use the restroom in the back of the winery. She’ll need a mirror to fix herself up.”

Chad started to object then changed his mind. “Okay, it’s unlocked tonight for the staff’s use. The bathroom is in the building where the wine is aged.” He pointed to a large building not far from the patio. “It’s all the way in the back.”

I sent Janet a grateful smile. “Thanks. I’ll head over there now.”

Numerous guests crowded the patio so I wasted valuable time dodging the partygoers. I finally reached Liz’s side. She and Brian were talking to Abe and Rex, but her eyes widened when she saw me.

“What the blazes happened to you?” She stepped back and scrunched her patrician nose. “You do know you’re supposed to drink the wine and not wear it.”

“Ha ha. Love that dry British wit.” I grabbed an extra napkin from her hand and fruitlessly dabbed at my top. “Phil McKinley bumped into me and doused me with wine. I’m off to the winery’s storage building. Chad said I could use their restroom.”

“Well, hurry it up. We’re on in ten minutes. Why were you jabbering with Phil McKinley? He’s a creepy guy.”

“A little sleuthing.” I winked at Liz. “I think I’m getting close to cracking the case.”

Rex shook his head in amazement. “I wish all of my clients had family so tenacious in proving their innocence.”

Abe smiled at me, his handlebar moustache dotted with cornbread flakes. The portly man loved good food almost as much as his antiques. “That Hank is a lucky man to have you looking out for him.”

“Yes, he is. See you in a few, Liz,” I said to my friend. “Although feel free to go on without me.”

She stuck her tongue out at me in a most unladylike fashion. I ignored her and trotted over to the large stucco building. I opened the door and stepped back, my nose overpowered by the plum and fruity scents of the aging wine varietals.

I’d toured a few wineries in Camino, but this operation surpassed the other local wineries in size and output. The enormous silver cylinders reminded me of the machines in the Transformer movies. The ten-foot tall sentries guarded thousands of gallons of the precious liquid. The wine stored in this building must be worth a small fortune.

It felt weird walking through the building alone and not in the company of a bunch of babbling, tipsy tourists. I had only one goal. Find the bathroom, clean myself off and get out as quickly as possible. Lighting proved to be minimal, however, and it took me longer to find the restroom than I originally anticipated. Liz was probably ready to kill me for delaying the performance. Unless they went on without me.