Deadly Offer (12 page)

“Okay.” The detective rose. “Thank you both.”

She headed to the door and stopped, her hand on the jamb. “Since I’m here, let me ask you both one more thing. Would you describe for me your activities on Thursday afternoon?”

Sophie swallowed. This was the alibi question! She thought a moment before answering. “I stayed after school to work on a math project and Dad picked me up.” She added, “Around four thirty, I think.”

Detective Nardone nodded. Sophie watched as she turned her hawk-like gaze to her father.

“I was here at home,” he explained. “I left work at one o’clock or so to take care of some projects. Selena gave me the afternoon off, said she was going to relax and take it easy. She knew that any day we’d be picking the grapes and I’d be working overtime.”

“I see. What kind of projects did you work on?”

“Fall chores around here, basically.”

“When you left Carson Creek at one o’clock, did you pass anyone on the road?”

Dan shook his head. “No.” He snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute, I did pass a car. It was a compact car, blue, I think.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“No. But there was some sort of writing on the side.”

“Advertising?”

He nodded. Detective Nardone scribbled on a small pad of paper. She put the pencil to her lips as if deep in thought. “Mr. Stewart, can you think of anyone who wanted to harm Selena Thompson?”

There was a silence. “She told me once about an abusive man in her past, but to my knowledge he hadn’t contacted her in years.”

Detective Nardone nodded. “Her ex-husband perhaps?”

“Maybe. There were the incidents of sabotage at the vineyard as well.”

“Yes, so you told us.” She turned her attention to the teen. “What
about you, Sophie? You spent a fair amount of time at Carson Creek. If you think of anything that might help our investigation, please give me a call.”

Sophie nodded. To her surprise, Detective Nardone handed both her and her father a business card.

Her father’s face was somber as the door closed behind Detective Nardone.

“You might have seen the murderer in that blue car,” Sophie said.

He let out a long sigh. “Who would want to murder Selena?” he asked. “She didn’t have any enemies.”

A horn honked outside and Sophie gave her father a quick kiss. “Off to the movies.” She gave him a determined look. “I think you’ll remember more about that car if you try. Just give it time.”

———

Darby was tearing lettuce into bite-sized pieces when a knock on the door broke the silence.

“Ms. Farr? I’m Roger Sherman, a technician from the police department.” He flashed identification and gave a small smile. “Sorry to disturb you. May I come in?”

She opened the door and allowed the slight man to enter. He was carrying a bag which he placed on the floor and began to open. “I’ve been asked to gather any evidence from the property, focusing on the kitchen and pool area. Do you mind showing me where the bottle was located?”

Darby pointed to the spot and the technician began removing items from his bag. “It’s a long shot, to try and lift fingerprints so many days after the incident, but Detective Nardone suggested that I try.” She watched as he took a large flashlight out of his bag and examined the counter surface with its powerful beam. He then moved to the sink and faucets.

“It’s too late here,” he shrugged. “Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday … plus you had some sort of party here the day she was found?”

“I wouldn’t call it a party. People were stopping by to see Selena’s brothers, and dropping off food.” She thought back. There had been streams of people coming through the kitchen. “What about other areas of the house?”

“I’m going to examine the pool area right now. Maybe I’ll have better luck there.”

“May I come along?”

He grinned. “I’ll warn you, it isn’t very exciting, but sure.”

Darby grabbed her jacket and followed Roger Sherman outside and to the pool area. The air was taking on a chill and she thrust her hands into her pockets. A slip of paper met her fingers and she drew it out, puzzled.

It was the receipt that she’d found on the floor of the old barn. She took a look at it, and the hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle.

“Mr. Sherman, I may have something for you.”

He turned to her with a surprised look as she held up the paper. “I found this on Friday, on the floor in the barn. I picked it up and saw that it was a receipt from a drug store in St. Adina. I stuck it in my pocket and it has been there ever since.”

Roger Sherman opened his bag and pulled out a pair of long tweezers. Gently he pinched the scrap of paper between them and peered at it carefully. “My luck may have just changed,” he said. He looked back at Darby. “Please, Ms. Farr. Show me exactly where you found this.”

———

Miles Porter whistled softly under his breath. “I can’t believe it. Somebody murdered Selena Thompson?”

“It certainly looks that way.” Darby had made herself a light salad and was sitting in the dining room of the farmhouse, talking with Miles on the phone. The evidence technician had left fifteen minutes earlier, taking with him the receipt.

“Someone who knew she was taking that medication—beta blockers—and knew her routine.” He paused. “Anyone spring to mind?”

“No. She seems to have been universally well-liked—at least that’s what everyone says. Of course, there are those incidences of sabotage at the vineyard. They could be related to her death.”

“You mean that someone was trying to destroy both Selena and her vineyard.”

“Could be. There’s the multiple offer, too. The Contento family, Vivian Allen, and this third buyer, Fritz Kohler—perhaps one of those parties killed Selena.”

“But why? How would eliminating Selena help their chances of getting the vineyard?”

“Maybe they figured they’d have a better chance with her heirs. Or maybe they knew they weren’t getting the property, and they killed her because they were angry.”

“Poisoning someone is a pretty deliberate act,” Miles commented. “Not one of those ‘fits of passion’ kinds of killings. This was done by someone who knew how Selena spent her day.”

“Half the people in the valley seem to know she relaxed in the hot tub with a glass of wine.”

“That’s because they’re all doing the same thing. It’s a California ritual, like drinking tea in merry old England,” Miles chuckled softly. “Sorry, had to inject at least a little levity. Seems all we ever talk about is murder.”

“You’re right. What about my friend Doug? I had to tell the party interested in his house that I was having trouble contacting him. I didn’t say that he’d disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“It seems that where he’s living has very poor cell phone reception, and the land line number is not connected, so that could be part of our problem,” explained Miles. “I tried calling Rhonda’s place of business, Beachside Gifts, but no luck there. Finally I called the local police. It seems Rhonda’s gift shop has been vacant for years.”

Darby swallowed. “This woman’s pulling some kind of scam on Doug, I just know it.”

“I could ask the authorities to keep an eye out for him. They could go to Rhonda’s house and ask to speak with Doug.” Darby pictured her friend’s reaction when a pair of burly looking Hawaiian cops showed up one night. What if Doug was fine? Maybe Rhonda had begun a new business someplace else.
Maybe I am overreacting.

She thought back to what she knew of her friend’s schedule. “He arrived on Friday. It’s only been two days.” She let out a long breath. “Let’s wait a bit. Thank you, Miles.”

“At your service.” There was a pause. “When are ET and Carlos coming back? I don’t like the idea of your being alone.”

“I’m not alone, I have Jasper.” Darby reached out and stroked the cat, who gave a silent wink of thanks.

“Seriously. With all that has happened there—”

“It’s bound to be quiet. What more can happen?” Later, Darby thought back to those words, stunned at how wrong she had been.

Ten

Carlos and ET came
back to the winery in better spirits than they had been in days. “It was so good to see our cousins,” Carlos said with feeling, leaning over the dining room table as he spoke. “Growing up in Ensenada we were such a close family, going for picnics every Sunday, and celebrating the holidays with huge family gatherings at Aunt Teresa’s house in Guadalupe. They made me remember those good times with Selena.”

ET nodded. “The stories we were telling! I felt as if I were a kid again and getting into trouble with my cousin Juan.” He smiled, and Darby could not help but smile as well, trying to imagine the very proper ET as a mischievous little boy.

“We have invited them to see the winery tomorrow morning,” Carlos said. “ET and I will get some pastries from the bakery in St. Adina and show them around.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Darby asked. “Detective Nardone said we should treat the house as a crime scene.”

Carlos lowered his voice. “They do not know about what happened, and we won’t take them in the house.”

Darby glanced at ET. “We did not tell them about the wine,” he said. “They think Selena’s death was accidental.” ET sighed and sat down at the table. “I am having a hard time believing our sister was deliberately poisoned, and yet I know she would not have taken an overdose willingly. She was too much of a fighter.” Looking down at his well-manicured hands, he continued softly, “Carlos and I need to have some space from all of this. We think we will leave tomorrow afternoon and go to his place in San Francisco. I will stay there the night, and take the bus to San Diego the next day.”

“I understand,” Darby said. The discovery that Selena’s death had not been accidental—that someone had actually doctored her wine—had aged both the brothers. The new and sinister development had changed the whole atmosphere at Carson Creek. It was now a place of suspicion and fear.

Darby glanced at her empty plate and decided to change the subject. “Are you hungry, or did you have something to eat with your family?”

“We are fine,” ET assured her. “There is never a shortage of food with Aunt Teresa around.” He smiled. “Selena was always a slender girl, and kind of a picky eater when she was young. Teresa would give her a hard time about not eating enough, but Selena always ate just what she wanted and when she wanted.” He stroked his chin and regarded Carlos. “That sister of ours could be very stubborn.”

Carlos nodded. “She was one of those kinds of people who made up their mind and that was it, you know?” He frowned. “That’s one of the reasons why I think Vivian Allen should get Carson Creek. Selena chose her. We need to honor her wishes.”

“What is your other reason?” Darby asked quietly. She pushed her salad plate to the side and met Carlos’ glowering gaze.

“It is personal.”

ET raised an eyebrow. “I should think that if you have personal reasons for choosing someone to purchase our sister’s property, you would at least do me the courtesy of sharing that reason.”

Carlos let out an exasperated sound and placed both hands on the table. “This is not the time.”

“What?” ET was on his feet, his face incredulous. “Then when is the time? Once we are both back in our lives and Darby is here trying to help sell Selena’s home? Give me a break, Carlos. You know something about Vivian Allen, and it is time you tell us. Now.” His dark eyes burned into his brother’s face. Finally Carlos gave a small shrug.

“I told you that Vivian had a backer for the property—someone with very deep pockets.”

ET glanced at Darby and nodded. “Yes.”

“This person has offered me a job as her personal photographer. It’s huge.” He looked into his brother’s face, his eyes hopeful. “It would mean an incredible salary, as well as the chance to travel on her tours …”

“Tours? Just who is this mysterious backer?”

Carlos gave a quick grin. “You are not going to believe it. Vivian’s sister is one of the richest women in the world.” He paused. “Her sister is Veronica.”

“The pop star?” ET looked confused. “The one who wears the leather shorts and fishnet stockings?”

“That’s her. She wants to invest in a vineyard and Vivian wants to run it. They looked at a few other places, but Carson Creek is Vivian’s favorite.”

Darby thought back to their meeting with Vivian.
I asked her if she had a partner. Why did she lie?

ET drew in a breath. “Carlos, if this position is something you want, I am happy to see you get it. But if Vivian is tying it to the sale of our sister’s property, that sounds suspicious to me.”

The color rose in Carlos’ cheeks. “I knew you would see it that way! Any time something good comes my way, you try to find a way to stop it. Is it so hard to believe that Veronica wants me because I’m talented? Because my photographs really speak to her? Is that such a crazy idea?”

“No, no,” ET soothed. “I know of your vision and I am sure Vivian and her sister do as well.”

Carlos seemed somewhat mollified. “Thanks.” He turned to Darby. “Can we even sell the place now that there is a murder investigation? Will any of them want to buy it?”

“You bring up a good point, Carlos. I don’t know the answer. Certainly I will need to disclose that there is an ongoing investigation. It may indeed influence some of the interested parties.”

“I guess we’ll just have to see,” Carlos said. He sighed and looked at ET. “You’re right about Veronica. If she wants me, she can make me an offer whether she gets Carson Creek or not.” He ran his fingers through an unruly mass of curls. “I’m going upstairs and see if I can get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

ET nodded and rose from the table. “I shall head upstairs as well. Good night Darby. I hope you will get some rest, too.”

Darby took her plate into the kitchen, her eyes lingering on the spot where she remembered seeing the wine bottle. What had happened on the day of Selena’s death? Had someone come to the vineyard deliberately to add the ground beta blockers to the bottle, knowing that Selena would have a glass of wine while sitting in the hot tub? Had someone deliberately poisoned her? Who? And why?

Could it have been the same person who was sabotaging the vineyard? Was murder their final, terrifying act?

She took a stenographer’s pad out of Selena’s kitchen drawer and sat down at the dining room table. There had been three instances when damage occurred at the vineyard, two that happened prior to Selena’s death, and one that happened following it. Was Selena’s murder just another form of damage? Or had the perpetrator of the sabotage not cared that she was dead, or known that she’d been murdered?

Could the sabotage and the murder be unrelated? Did Selena’s death even have to do with Carson Creek? Selena had been married, many years earlier, to a man whose last name was Thompson. Surely ET would know about his ex-brother-in-law …

Darby rose and crept quietly up the stairs. Beneath ET’s door was the feeble glow of a light. She knocked gently and he came to the door, wearing a stylish pair of pin-striped cotton pajamas. “What is it, my friend?” he whispered.

“Who was Selena’s ex-husband? Do you know where he lives?”

ET thought a moment. “His name was Rick Thompson, and he came from the Bay area, but I do not know where he is now. I don’t think Selena kept any contact with him.” His eyes looked concerned. “Why do you ask? Do you think he could be connected to all this?”

“I don’t know.” She touched his arm lightly. “I wish I could figure this out for you.”

“I know you do, Darby, but I don’t want you to think this is your problem to solve. The police will handle any investigation. You just help me sell the vineyard.”

“I will,” she promised, backing away. “Good night.”

“Good night,” he said, and closed the door.

Back in the kitchen, Darby returned the pad of paper to the drawer and sighed. Perhaps Selena’s ex-husband was a lead—it was worth exploring, anyway—but more than likely it was a dead end. And the scrap of paper on the old barn floor could easily have fallen from Selena’s or Dan Stewart’s pocket. Chances were, it, too, meant nothing.

Discouraged, Darby turned off lights and locked the kitchen door. A brush of fur against her leg was momentarily frightening, until she remembered Jasper and his urge to spend the nocturnal hours outside on the prowl.

She unlocked the door and opened it. The cat leapt out and into the gathering night.

Jasper had spent the night of Selena’s murder inside the house. Had Selena let him in when she poured her wine and donned her swimsuit? Or was it more likely the murderer had closed Jasper in the house at some point?

If only Jasper could relay what he had seen.

———

In the middle of a dream in which she was packing box after box of her neighbor Doug Henderson’s possessions, a loud sound startled Darby Farr awake. She lay still for a moment, wondering what she had heard, and then rose and went to the window. The night was inky black, with clouds obscuring the moon, and at first Darby saw nothing. She hurried to the other window overlooking the old barn and red winery building. What she glimpsed made her gasp.

Bright orange flames leapt from Carson Creek’s tasting room, the tongues of fire a startling contrast to the night sky. Darby fumbled on the night stand for her phone. She dialed 911 and gave the dispatcher the vineyard’s location. She then grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled it on over her nightgown.

“ET, Carlos, get up,” she yelled, knocking on their bedroom doors. A groggy Carlos, his hair sticking up at odd angles, met her with a confused expression. “What is it?”

“The red barn building is on fire. I’ve called the fire department. Let’s hope they get here as quickly as possible.”

ET appeared in the hallway. “My God,” he breathed. “What can we do?”

Darby’s thoughts were racing. “Selena’s office was in that building. Maybe we can save some of Carson Creek’s data from going up in flames.”

She grabbed her jeans and pulled them on along with her running sneakers. Together with the Gomez brothers, she rushed down the stairs and into the chilly September night.

To Darby’s dismay she saw that the flames now covered the whole corner of the building. The fire was spreading, and fast.

“Hurry,” she yelled. “I think we can still get into the office.”

They ran across the parking lot and to the burning building. Thick smoke billowed from the flames, lighting the sky with an unnatural glow. The roar of the fire’s growing intensity filled their ears. “I don’t know if this is safe,” ET yelled above the noise. “It isn’t worth one of us getting injured.”

Carlos gave him a grim look. “Selena worked her butt off for this place,” he shouted back. “I’m going in and getting her computer at least.” He dashed into the building, with Darby close behind.

Smoke filled the room, making visibility virtually impossible. Her eyes stinging, Darby moved blindly toward where she remembered Selena’s desk. She spotted what looked to be a stack of files and grabbed them. Coughing and feeling as if she could no longer breathe, she stumbled for the door.

Carlos was beside her, clutching what appeared to be a laptop. His eyes were streaming with tears from the smoke.

“Where is Rico?” Carlos yelled. “Did he go in there?”

Darby looked toward the door. She hadn’t seen ET, but in the smoke-filled office it was impossible to see anything. “I don’t know,” she cried. “I thought he stayed out here.”

A sick sensation filled her stomach as she watched Carlos lunge toward the building. As he was about to enter, the crouched figure of ET emerged from the smoke. Carlos reached for him and pulled him across the lawn toward Darby.

“I don’t know what I grabbed, but at least it is something,” ET said, dropping several binders to the ground in exhaustion. The high-pitched whine of sirens filled the night. “At last,” he cried.

Moments later two fire engines roared up the road and pulled to a stop before the building. Men jumped from the truck and began pointing hoses at the fire. Water shot from the hoses and Darby felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe the firefighters were not too late.

A tall man wearing yellow turnout gear and a firefighter’s helmet appeared beside Darby. “I’m the Captain here,” he yelled above the din. “Anyone inside?”

“No,” Carlos yelled. “It is just the three of us staying at the property.”

The Captain nodded. “Good. Let me get this under control, and I’ll be back to ask a few questions,” he yelled.

Just then the voice of one of the men rose above the fire’s roar. “Captain Montera,” he cried. “Come over here, sir! We’ve got someone! We’ve got a body!”

———

Andrea Contento woke to the sound of sirens. She shook her head, trying to understand what she was hearing, and realized with dread the wailing meant a fire. She looked at the figure of her sleeping husband beside her. “Michael,” she whispered, tugging at his shoulder. “Something’s wrong.”

“What?” He was a deep sleeper, difficult to rouse, and she knew it would take a few moments before he was lucid.

“Listen. Those fire engine sirens are close.”

“Carson Creek.” He was awake now, out of bed and yanking on a pair of jeans and a shirt. “I’m going over there.”

“Do you think you should?”

He gave her a sharp look. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just that I’m worried about you.”

“What? For God’s sake, Andrea, what are you talking about?”

“Your heart! You know you should be taking it easy.”

He shook his head, irritated. “Let’s discuss this another time, shall we? I’m going to see what the hell is going on.”

“Don’t go alone, Michael. Tim stayed over last night. Take him with you.”

“Listen, I’ll go alone if I want to go alone. It’s not like he’s going to be much help.”

“Please.”

Michael Contento yanked open the bedroom door. “Tell him to meet me at the truck.”

Andrea grabbed her robe and knocked on the door where Tim was sleeping. When he opened it, she explained what little they knew and asked if he would accompany his father to Carson Creek.