"I think you should check out where David Allen was tonight," I said.

  And just like that, the moment was over. Grant pulled his hand back, leaning into the sofa. "David Allen? You think he hit you?"

  I moved to nod but thought better of it. "Possibly. He had motive to want Chas dead."

  The hazel flecks stopped dancing in Grant's eyes, their depths going darker. "A lot of people had motive to want Pennington dead."

  "But I could see David doing it." Which was the truth. Both the murder and my head bashing. David seemed to fit the lurking-in-the-dark profile to a tee.

  "That's hardly evidence. Unless you did see him."

  "I told you, I didn't see anything. But I did find out that Chas owed David Allen a lot of money."

  Grant frowned at me. "He owed a lot of people money."

  "But what if Chas threatened to tell Vivienne that David was shaking him down? David could have lost his cushy lifestyle. And according to Trask, Chas owed David Allen half a million. That's plenty to kill over."

  "Trask? Joe Trask?" Grant's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing.

  Oops. Had I let that slip out? "Um, yes?" It came out more as a question.

  "When did you talk to Joe Trask?" he demanded.

  "Uh…I went to his shop earlier today?"

  "In person?!"

  "Umm…"

  Grant let out a string of curse words that would have made my grandmother blush. "Emmy, this is not a game! You don't mess with people like Joe Trask. You could have been killed."

  I raised an eyebrow at him. "Wait, are you saying that being hit on the head is my fault?"

  He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "What I'm saying is curiosity killed the cat."

  I rolled my eyes. "Oh please. You're better than clichés, Grant."

  He grinned, breaking through the tension. "Okay, how about this: there's a murderer on the loose, and you seem to be in their sights. Why, I'm not sure."

  I had a guess. I was getting too close, asking too many questions. As cliché as it was, he was right—I was digging into something that someone wanted to keep under wraps. And unlike my feline counterparts, I only had one life. And I wanted to keep it, thank you very much.

  "I'll be careful," I promised, meaning it.

  "Thank you," he said, his voice missing that dangerous edge it usually held.

  It was enough to melt a weaker woman at the knees.

  "But don't you think that the fact someone hit me means I might be onto something?" I watched his reaction. His jaw squared again, the tension back. I tamped down a twinge of disappointment.

  "Emmy…"

  "No, listen. If Jenny killed her brother, why would anyone attack me? She's in jail."

  "She made bail a couple of hours ago. She's staying with her parents, who just got into town. That's what I came to tell you."

  "Oh." While I was glad she was home safe and sound, the timing wasn't ideal. "You could have told me that over the phone," I said.

  He shrugged. "Where would the fun be in that?"

  I paused. Was he flirting with me? I shook that thought out of my fuzzy head. My mind was playing tricks on me. Concussions did that.

  "Okay, well, what reason would she have to attack me?" I countered.

  "What makes you think these two events are connected?" he asked, his eyes intent on me.

  I willed myself not to crack under his stare. "You think it's just coincidence?"

  He sighed and shook his head. "No. I don't. But just because you poked your nose into someone's business that they'd rather keep private, that doesn't mean they killed Chas. It just means they don't much like you."

  "Ouch." But he was right. I had no proof the two were connected. What I did have was a pounding headache, a dry mouth, and a sudden exhaustion that I could feel all the way to the tips of my toes.

  It must have shown on my face, as the concern tugged at his eyebrows again. "You're going to have a hell of a bruise in the morning," he said softly. "I don't think you should be alone tonight."

  Oh boy. I licked my dry lips, cursing my traitorous body for heating up in places that would also make my grandmother blush. "You don't?" I breathed out.

  He shook his head slowly. "Do you have someone you can call?"

  I cleared my throat. "Uh, yeah. Sure. I-I can call Ava."

  He nodded. "I think that's best."

  I tore myself away from his dancing eyes, giving my traitorous body a down, girl as I pulled out my cell and dialed Ava's number. I gave her the CliffsNotes version of the evening, and she promised she'd be there in ten minutes.

  Nine minutes later she arrived in a flurry of ohmigod's and are-you-okay's. I gave her the detailed version of events, all the while watching Grant's concern fade back into his stoic cop demeanor. By the time I was finished and he was satisfied I wasn't in dire need of medical attention, he gave us both a curt nod goodbye and said he'd call in the morning.

  As soon as he left, that exhaustion that had been dogging me all evening won over, and I collapsed into bed.

  * * *

  I awoke feeling like I'd been hit by a truck. Or maybe just a large rock. Either way, my head pounded, my mouth felt like a desert, and as I looked in the mirror, a purple bump sat on my temple and a large dark circle had blossomed around my right eye where I'd hit the ground. I gingerly blinked, wondering if I had enough concealer to cover it. After a shower, a blow dry, and a couple pounds of makeup, I decided I didn't. I opted for a pair of very large, very dark sunglasses instead, the lenses black and round, like Mickey Mouse's ears, which covered my black eye even if they did feel a tad dramatic.

  I threw on a pair of skinny jeans, a dark shirt, and a warm caramel sweater that complemented my knee-high suede boots, and made my way to the living room, where the remnants of our impromptu sleepover lay in a rumpled heap on my couch. A Post-it told me Ava had gone to the main kitchen in search of coffee. I thought that was a fabulous idea.

  I followed the heavenly smell of brewing French roast and cinnamon rolls toward the kitchen, and found Ava and Conchita deep in conversation, Ava regaling her with the tale of the attack the night before. Adding in just a few of her own embellishments. I could only imagine how the story would grow once Jean Luc added his dramatic flair to it. By noon I feared I'd be fighting off three ninjas and have a full body cast.

  "Ay, Emmy," Conchita said when she spied me, enveloping me in a big hug.

  "I'm fine," I told her. Though it came out more like "I've fibe," with my face mushed against her shoulder.

  "Ay, mija!" she said, reverting to Spanish in the emotion of the moment as she lifted my sunglasses.

  "It will heal," I told her.

  She tsked her tongue, letting out a few more phrases in her native language as she fluttered over me and fussed, assessing every inch of me herself.

  "I'm fine, really," I told her, sounding much more confident than my pounding head felt.

  "Bacon," Conchita decided. "You need bacon."

  Despite the pain, I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. "You know me so well." And she was right. Bacon certainly wouldn't make the situation worse.

  As she moved to the stove, I filled in the blanks Ava hadn't given her and set the record straight on a few of the exaggerations, finishing with my visit from Grant and his admission that, in this crime at least, Jenny seemed the innocent party.

  "I don't buy it for a second that this isn't connected to Chas's murder," Ava said hotly.

  I nodded. "I agree. Nothing was taken, nothing else disturbed. I think this was a warning."

  Conchita gasped and made the sign of the cross.

  "A warning I'll heed," I assured her.

  Ava shot me a look. "Are you saying you're dropping the whole thing? Emmy Oak, that's not like you."

  I shook my head, only mildly regretting it as a dull ache wrapped around my brain. "No, I'm saying I plan to be more careful. No more being alone outside after dark."

  "I bet it was Trask," Ava said, shoving a bite of sugary glazed cinnamon roll into her mouth.

  "I think that was Grant's fear too," I said.

  "But why would he want that Chas dead?" Conchita asked. "I thought you said he was making a lot of money from him."

  Ava shook her head. "I've been thinking about that. And, yes, he could have made a lot of money off him, if Chas had been paying him back. Which, he'd yet to do. Maybe Chas refused. Maybe Trask decided he'd have a better shot at convincing Vivienne to pay."

  "But he didn't need to kill Chas for that," I pointed out. "He could have approached Vivienne anytime."

  Ava chewed thoughtfully. "Okay, so what if Chas had something on Trask."

  That was a new angle. "I'm listening," I told her.

  "Well, maybe Chas told Trask he wasn't going to pay and threatened to go to the police if Trask didn't forgive the debt. Trask has been brought up on usury charges before."

  "What is usury?" Conchita asked, scrunching up her nose.

  "Loan sharking," I supplied, liking this new theory. "Your average desperate gambler might not have enough clout to get the authorities' attention. But if Chas Pennington somehow came to them with evidence of Trask's business, they might take note."

  Ava nodded. "So, Trask offs Chas and tells Viv she has to cover the debt. It's a win-win for him."

  "Just one problem," Conchita cut in.

  We both turned to her.

  "This loan shark wasn't at the Spanish party."

  My hopes fell. "That's right."

  "So maybe Trask didn't give Chas the drugs himself," Ava said, undeterred. "But he could have paid someone to do it. Maybe even one of the other guests? Who knows, maybe one of them owed Trask money, and this was his way of forgiving their debt?"

  It was all very possible. And I could well see the seedy Trask braining me on the head without his lazy conscience blinking an eye. The thought of him slinking around the winery in the dark made me shiver, even in the cozy warmth of the kitchen, surrounded by scents of cinnamon, lattes, and bacon.

  "I'd like to talk to Vivienne again," I decided.

  Ava paused midbite. "Why?"

  "I'd like to know just how much of Chas's extracurricular activities she knew about before he died." I sipped my coffee. "I feel like it's the key to everyone's motive."

  "You think she'll see us again?"

  I nodded. "I do. Because yesterday her mother asked me to cater the memorial." I paused to sip again as I thought through the plan. "We could say we need to go over the menu." Which, if I really was going to cater the event, was not a lie. Of course, I'd yet to be formally hired, but I could kill two birds with one stone.

  Ouch. Poor choice of words. My hand went to my aching temple. I did not want to be the bird getting hit with the stone ever again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  After breakfast, I called Vivienne. She confirmed that, yes, her mother had mentioned the catering job, yes, she did want us to work the event, and, yes, she was free to see us that morning.

  When we arrived at the Price-Pennington estate, the Lurch look-alike butler let us in again, his lurking presence feeling even more resentful of visitors than on our last occasion as he led us to the lounge to await our hostess. Vivienne came in a moment later, again dressed in unrelieved black—this time in a pair of black cigarette pants, high-heeled ankle boots, and a blouse that billowed fashionably around her hips. Her makeup was subdued, though the diamonds at her ears and on her fingers seemed to shine even more brightly, as if in defiance to the somber mood.

  "Thank you for coming," she told us, crossing to the bar on the far wall. "Drink?" she asked, pouring amber liquid into a glass.

  I shook my head. It was just past ten.

  "No thank you," Ava answered politely.

  Vivienne shrugged and sipped from the glass. "Suit yourself." She paused, giving me a good look. "Those are some glasses. Late night?"

  Instinctively, my hands went to the large frames covering the even larger bruise. "Something like that," I mumbled.

  "Anyway, the memorial," she said, all business now. "It's going to be a small, intimate affair. I don't want the masses. No reporters, no media. Just close personal friends." She paused. "No more than a hundred people."

  Ava and I were having a hard time finding one friend of Chas's, let alone a hundred. I had a feeling Vivienne had a blind spot where others' feelings about her husband were concerned too.

  "You can do that on short notice?" Vivienne asked.

  I nodded. "No problem."

  "Good. I'm thinking just small bites, trays of things. Nothing fussy. Nothing too heavy."

  "I can do some small plates and wine pairings. Maybe some beef filet crostini that would go well with our Pinot Noir. Possibly something with truffle to go with the Chardonnay?"

  Vivienne nodded and waved her glass in my direction. "Sure. Fine. Whatever you think is best," she said, clearly not interested in the culinary details.

  "Did you have a budget in mind for the catering?" Ava asked, giving me a sideways glance that said she was fishing for more than just the budget.

  But Vivienne just fluttered a hand our way again as she took another sip. "Whatever you think is best."

  "Really?" Ava pressed. "You're not concerned with costs? I mean, I would think that Chas's passing has been a bit of a financial burden."

  Vivienne paused, her glass midway to her mouth. "Excuse me?"

  Uh-oh. Had we pushed too far?

  "Uh, you know, funeral costs, flowers, lawyers and such…" I trailed off, trying to cover. The last thing I wanted to do was get on Vivienne Price-Pennington's bad side. At best, she could ruin my reputation among the wine loving elite in town with a single word. At worst, she could be a cold-blooded killer, and it was never a good idea to upset one of those.

  But she didn't seem to be buying it. She looked from Ava to me. "I don't think your friend did mean that, did you?" She cocked her head at Ava. Her eyes were calculating and cold, and I caught a glimpse of the woman who had ruined more than one life in the boardroom peeking through the grief stricken cougar facade.

  Ava blinked, turning to me for help. "Uh, well…"

  I decided the direct approach was best and stepped in. "I saw you talking to Joe Trask at the Links yesterday," I blurted out.

  Vivienne swung her hard stare my way. For a moment I thought she was going to deny it—her jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. But finally she sighed audibly, her features going slack. "Yes. I agreed to meet Mr. Trask there."

  "To talk about Chas's loan?" I prodded.

  Her nostrils flared with emotion, but she nodded. "If you can call it that. With the interest he's charging, I'd call it highway robbery."

  "Usury," Ava provided. "And it's illegal you know."

  "I know," Vivienne snapped at her. "But how would that look to the board, huh? My husband using company funds for illegal gambling and then owing money to a loan shark?"

  "Wait—company funds?" I thought of all the expense reimbursement requests we'd seen in Chas's office. Could it be the receipts had been faked in order to get company funds for his poker habits?

  Vivienne sighed again. "Yes. Chas was skimming from Price Digital. It's my fault really." She waved her hand in the air as if waving aside any blame we might lay at Chas's dead feet. "He kept asking me for more money, increases to his allowance. At one point I just said no. I mean, it was getting extravagant. I asked what he needed the money for, but he just said he was helping out his family. Which, of course, I endorsed, but, really, how much did they need?"

  Honestly? A lot more than Chas was not giving them, if Jenny's stories of her sick father were any indication. But I kept that opinion to myself as Vivienne continued.

  "Anyway, I just finally told him no." She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears as she stared at a point across the room, reliving the scene in her mind. "I should have just let him have free rein with accounts. I mean, we were married."

  "Did you know Chas was stealing from Price Digital before he died?" I asked, knowing I had to tread carefully here.

  Vivienne let out another deep sigh and looked from Ava to me. "This doesn't leave this room."

  We both nodded in agreement.

  "I suspected. One of the managers in accounting told me Chas had been submitting a large number of requests lately. She'd even turned some down, but she thought I should know." Vivienne paused, sipping her drink. "So, I looked into it. And she was right. Chas was playing loose with the requests. He was submitting receipts for things I'd bought him, and claiming he needed reimbursement for them." She shook her head. "He doctored some receipts, inflating amounts. Some looked fabricated altogether."

  "Did you confront him?"

  She shook her head. "No." She paused, licking the mauve lipstick off her lips. "I covered for him." She choked back a guilty sob.

  "You covered it up?" Ava asked.

  She nodded, holding a tissue to her nose. "Look, I know it wasn't that Chas was bad. He was just weak. Easily tempted. And it was my fault. All of it. If I'd just given him the money he needed, he wouldn't have had to skim anything. So, I covered up the discrepancies."

  "Even though he was continuing to gamble?"

  She shook her head sadly. "I didn't know what the money was for at the time. I-I just suspected he liked nice things. Honestly, I didn't know!"

  But she did know her husband was stealing from her. From the company she'd built from nothing, poured so much of her heart and soul into that she'd neglected her son most of his young life. I wondered…had it mattered what Chas wanted the money for? Or just that he was slimy enough to steal from the hand that fed him?

  "You said that someone in accounting alerted you to Chas's receipts," Ava said. "What about Sadie? Did she know?"

  At the mention of Sadie's name, the expression on Vivienne's face changed. Gone was the look of nostalgia and regret, replaced by that predatory boardroom shark coldness in her eyes again. "Why would Sadie know anything about it?"

  Ava shrugged. "She is your partner."

  "Yes, but it's my name on the door," Vivienne said defiantly. She shook her head. "I told you, Sadie didn't like Chas. She said he was dead weight at the company. I don't think she had much to do with him at all."

 

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