Whispers of Murder (6 page)

Isabelle’s eyes wandered over to the vending machine across the hall and she saw someone she recognized.  She looked at Emmett.  “I’ll be right back.”

The woman at the machine bent down and pulled out a candy bar.  When she stood back up, Isabelle was in front of her. 

“Tara, I didn’t think I’d get the chance to see you again,” Isabelle said. 

Tara’s eyes were fixed on Isabelle’s arm.  “What happened to you?”

Isabelle wiggled her arm.  “Long story.  What are you doing here?”

“My mom,” Tara said.  “She had a heart attack last night.”

“Oh…I’m sorry.”

“What about you?” Tara said.

“My dad—he uh, got shot today.”

Tara latched on to her candy bar like she was trying to squeeze all the nougat from the center onto the floor.  “That’s awful, is he okay?”

Isabelle nodded.  “He’s fine.”

“Was it an accident?”

“Something like that.  Is your mom alright?”   

Tara glanced at the clock on the wall.  “She’s supposed to be out of surgery any minute, so I’m going to ask if they’ll let me see her,” she said.  “But I’d love to grab lunch one of these days and pay you back for that coffee.”

“I don’t know.   There’s so much going on right now.”

“That’s the perfect reason to take a break.”

 “Could we make it later in the week?”

Tara scribbled some digits onto a piece of paper.  “This is the number to my cell.  Call me and we’ll set up a time.”  She started down the hall and then turned.  “It was nice seeing you again, Isabelle.”

As Isabelle walked back toward Emmett, something occurred to her.  Tara had called her Isabelle, but there was just one problem with that: in the brief encounters they’d shared, she never once mentioned her name.  

CHAPTER 13

R
oland tilted back in his La-Z-Boy recliner and watched his wife and daughters dote on him like a lioness tending to her newborn cub. 

“If I need something I’ll holler,” he said.  “Now if the three of you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to Hell on Wheels.”

He clicked the play button on the remote and thought his message had been well received until he spied the outline of a person in the doorway. 

“How many times does a man have to start and stop a program before he can get through the damn thing?  I feel like I’m in a house full of needy children.”  When there was no answer Roland shifted his head around.  “Oh, it’s you.”

The sheriff uncrossed his arms and walked in.  “I just need a few minutes,” he said.  “And then you can get back to ah, Hells Wheels, or whatever you called it.”

“Whoever fired at me is a stinkin’ lousy shot.”

“I imagine if they weren’t, you’d be dead.  You should be grateful.”

Roland nodded toward the door.  “Close that, will you?”  When it was sealed, he said, “Have you been out in the trees yet?”

The sheriff nodded.   “Didn’t find much—a couple broken branches that indicate where the shot was fired from and a footprint, maybe, in the dirt.”

“Size?”

“Small, like an eight or a nine.”

“Women’s?”

“Or a petite man’s.”

He rolled his eyes.  “A woman shot at me?   No wonder she missed.”

“A woman?  Maybe.  Shot at you?  I don’t think so.  I believe Isabelle was the target.”

“But I’m the one who took the bullet.”

“Like you said—it was a lousy one.  She, if it was a she, missed.  Based on the trajectory, it’s possible.  ‘Course, I could be wrong.  This is what, my second case like this in the last five years?”

Roland wagged his finger at him.  “Yeah, but everyone around here knows you’ve been pulled in to help with plenty other homicides in other counties because of your expertise in the area.”

“I’ve requested some extra manpower to keep an eye on you two, but so far they’re slow in coming.  Davis is here now.  But, he’s all I’ve got.”

“First poison, then Isabelle almost gets plowed into, and now a gun.  Doesn’t make much sense.”

The sheriff nodded.  “It’s messy.  Whoever is responsible is unorganized.  It’s like these attacks are off the cuff without much thought or consideration to follow through.  Until I can find out more, I suggest you two stay put.”

The wind rustled through the leaves on the trees creating a sound like a rattlesnake ready to strike.  Isabelle loved it when the breeze kicked in with a sliver of attitude.  It sent a fruit-filled aroma through the coastal air.   

“Where are you off to, Izzy?”

She flipped her head back.  “Thought I’d take a walk.”

Emmett quickened his pace and caught up to her.  “You don’t take walks.”

 “How do you know?  Maybe I’ve changed since I’ve been away.”

“Have you?”

She sighed.  “Has my dad mentioned anything to you about what happened?”

“The day he got shot?”

She nodded.  Emmett averted his eyes to an undone button on his shirt. 

“It’s okay, you can talk about it,” she said.  “Do you know about Leo—I mean Jerome?  Do you know what the sheriff is saying about him?”

“I know he lied about his name and his parents.  And Roland said he was also married to a Marsha somebody.”

“I didn’t know her name.”

“Sorry.”

Isabelle felt Emmett’s eyes on her.

“Hey—you don’t have to be embarrassed,” Emmett said.  “Not in front of me.”

“I hate to admit I didn’t know what I was getting into when I agreed to marry him.  I actually still don’t know—not the whole story.  I’ve cried over him every single day since he died, and the truth is, he probably wasn’t even worth the tears I shed for him.  He lied to me, and I believed every word of it.” 

The sun’s rays glistened along the path, and for a split second, something caught Isabelle’s eye that practically blinded her.  It was the size of a penny and sparkled like a gold nugget in a miner’s pan.  She knelt down to get a closer look. 

“You alright?” Emmett said.

Isabelle snatched a necklace from the rock beside her and stuffed it into her pocket.  “Yeah—just need to tighten the lace on my shoe.”

When she pushed herself up with her right hand, she faltered.  Emmett caught her and lifted her back up to a full standing position a few inches from his face.  Their eyes locked and she detected something different in the way he looked at her.  It was almost like he felt sorry for her, but there was also something more.  And when had he gotten so muscular?

“Izzy, I wanted to—I’ve been meaning to—”

“You ready to head back?”

He sighed and released her.  “Up to you.” 

They turned around and Emmett flicked her on the shoulder.  “Told ya you weren’t a walker.”

CHAPTER 14

T
he next morning Isabelle sat on a padded blue chair at a table filled with a handful of suits she’d never met before.  In her faded jeans and cotton V-neck shirt, she felt out of place.  She had no idea the meeting would be so formal.  The only other woman in the room was seated two chairs down and dressed in a pencil skirt and a fitted jacket with a coral silk shirt underneath that sparkled depending on how her body shifted.  Her dark locks were wound up into a bun that was secured in place with a chopstick-looking fastener.  It was pulled so tight, Isabelle wondered if her eyes hurt. 

Positioned at the head of the table was Isabelle’s father.  He’d never worn a suit in his life, not even on his wedding day, and he wasn’t about to break that trend now.  Isabelle had attempted to postpone the meeting and reminded him he needed rest, but he balked at the idea and assured her he was fine.  His only request was that she came to the meeting with him.  For years he’d tried to bring her into the family business and she’d always resisted, but he was just starting to recover.  The least she could do was to sit in on one meeting while she was there.   

Roland looked at the empty chair to his left.  “Well, we’re not all here, but let’s get started.  I’ve called everyone together today to announce a couple changes.  I’ve been in charge of the estate for over thirty years now, and I’ll never forget the day my father passed it down to me.”

The door burst open and Emmett rushed in with a face that said ‘someone get me a razor’ and a shirt that needed to be run through the wrinkle-free cycle a few times.  He glossed over the group and then scrambled to the vacant seat next to Roland.  Isabelle was shocked.  She knew he worked for her father, but in a leadership capacity?  All these years she’d thought he was only in charge of the harvest.  Roland looked at Emmett and they shared a glance like two brothers that harbored a secret map in their possession that would lead them to buried treasure.  Argh!

“Over the past year,” Roland continued, “I’ve started to slow down.  I didn’t want to admit it to myself or anyone else for that matter, but I haven’t been able to manage things like I used to, and because of that, I’ve decided to do what’s best for the vineyard and my family.

Isabelle was stunned.  Was he getting ready to hand the winery over to Emmett?  He’d always said Emmett was like a son to him, and the family business had been passed down from father to son for generations, but he wasn’t family.  She had to be wrong.  He wouldn’t do that—would he? 

Emmett’s right hand quivered over a manila folder he held in his hand, and his eyes roamed around the different corners of the room but never rested on her.

“A few of you haven’t met my daughter Isabelle, and that’s why I’ve asked her to join us today,” Roland said.  “When she was a child I taught her everything there was to know about this business, and though she’s been away for a year, I always hoped one day she would return and make her life here in this valley again.”

Roland stretched out his fingers and Emmett deposited the folder into his hands.  Roland opened it, scanned the contents, and faced the group.  “I’ve had my lawyer draw up the papers, and as of the first of next year, I will step down as President of the estate, and Isabelle will take my place.”

The suits tried their best to crack fake smiles in the direction of an unassuming Isabelle whose mouth split open like it was a tunnel waiting for a train to pass through.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw chopstick-hair lady grab a bottle and pour several glasses of wine.  That’s the last thing I need right now, she thought to herself.  Glasses were raised and everyone chanted, “To Isabelle,” and they clanked their glasses together.

Roland turned to her.  “How about a few words?”

Was he serious?

She stood up and scrutinized all the faces in the room.  “I need ummm—I’ll be right back,” and she darted toward the door.  When she reached it, Emmett grabbed it from behind and swung it open.  She angled around and narrowed her eyes.  “Don’t, Emmett.  Just don’t.”

Isabelle ran inside the house and yelled for her mom, but all was silent except for the continual hum of the refrigerator.  She extracted her cell phone from her pocket and dialed.

“Tara?  I’m ready to cash in on that lunch.”

CHAPTER 15

L
unch came and went, and by the end of it, Tara had begged her way over to the one place Isabelle didn’t want to be.  When they arrived, Tara took in the line of eager spectators who waited for a tour guide.  She grinned at one man as she breezed past him and stepped out the double doors that led to the vineyard.  “A private tour, I feel so lucky…this place is amazing.”

“So, this is it,” Isabelle said.  “What would you like to know?”

“Everything.”

“Well, we make all kinds of wines: Cabernet Sauvignon, Chardonnay, Syrah, Merlot…”

“What’s your favorite?”

“That’s easy.  The sweeter the better.  When I was a teenager I used to mix the different varieties together.  I wanted to create my own blend.  My father loved it.  He always said he thought I would create my own version of wine one day—something different than anyone had ever tried before.”

Tara bobbed her head around.  “Who knows, maybe you will.”

“I don’t know if this is the right life for me.  The last week has been filled with lots of questions and no answers.  I feel like a Rubik’s Cube—like one day all my colors matched—I had a plan—I knew where I was going, or I thought I did.  But then someone came along and jumbled all the colors up and now I’m not sure what to do with my life.”

“We don’t know each other very well yet, but I’ve got impeccable listening skills if you ever want to share what’s going on.”

Isabelle laughed.  “Maybe later.  I thought we were here because you wanted to see what a winery looked like.”

Tara winked.  “Alright then, let’s skip to the wine tasting part of the tour.”         

Isabelle paused and fondled a cluster of grapes that hung from a branch.  “Here’s a fun fact: we hand-sort and hand-harvest all of our grapes.”

“Seems time consuming.”

“That’s why our wine is the best,” a voice said from behind.

Over her shoulder Isabelle spotted chopstick-hair lady.  Her smart skirt and expensive heels had been replaced with slacks and a pair of shoes that looked like they were made for a horse.  The chopstick remained in place.

“Sorry,” the lady said.  “I didn’t mean to barge in on you two.”