I did a totally unnecessary over the shoulder, feeling guilt manifest as anxiety in my gut. Ava reached out for the door handle and turned.

  Only it didn't budge.

  "It's locked," she said.

  "What do you mean locked?" I whispered. Totally unnecessary as well, since we were the only people I'd seen on the entire floor.

  Ava shrugged. "Locked."

  "I thought Jenny said the doors were unlocked at night."

  "The doors to the building," Ava clarified. "I didn't ask her about Chas's private office."

  Great. We'd driven all the way into the city and spiked my blood pressure a good twenty points for nothing. "So now what?" I asked.

  Ava glanced around herself at the empty cubes. "Give me a minute," she said, disappearing into one.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, following a step behind her.

  I found her rummaging through a desk drawer, using her phone as a flashlight.

  "Ava, that's someone's desk!" My gaze whipped around the room again, sure security guards were about to pop out and demand we unhand the stapler.

  "Relax," she told me, closing it and opening the next one. "I'm just going to borrow something."

  "What?" I asked, rubbing my sweaty palms on my jeans. I was anything but relaxed.

  She straightened up, a look of triumph on her face. "This." She held a paperclip out.

  "What is that for?"

  She shot me a well, duh look. "To pick the lock."

  I had to ask. I glanced around again, suddenly feeling extremely exposed as Ava headed back to Chas's door. I followed a step behind again, halfway hoping this failed and we could go home and halfway hoping it worked so we wouldn't be standing here in plain view of anyone who chanced to ride the elevators to the sixth floor.

  Ava inserted the paperclip into the keyhole and wiggled it back and forth.

  "How do you know how to pick a lock?"

  "I don't," she confessed. "But this is what they did on Castle last week."

  "Wasn't that show canceled?"

  "Yes, but not because of a lack of realistic PI skills," she told me sagely.

  I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Okay, maybe I didn't resist. But in the dark, I didn't think Ava saw me.

  "I saw that," she mumbled, the tip of her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on the lock.

  "Are you sure about this?" I asked. "What if we get caught? What if the cameras are watching? What if we damage the door?'

  "Geez, you're tightly wound."

  I shot her a look. "Only when committing minor felonies."

  Ava's turn to roll her eyes. "Calm down, will you? This is misdemeanor at best."

  I opened my mouth to tell her there was nothing "at best" about a misdemeanor, when I heard a soft click and the doorknob in her hand turned.

  Ava looked about as surprised as I felt, her eyes going from me to the door. "Huh. It worked."

  "Let's go, Cagney," I said, ushering her inside as quickly as I could. The less time we stood out on the open floor, the better.

  With the door safely closed behind us, Ava flipped on the light, and I took a moment to survey the surroundings. One thing I could say, Chas hadn't skimped on his office amenities. While he might not have done much more than be a pretty face to brighten Vivienne's workday, his office was well appointed with everything the wealthy and pretending-to-work could want. A full bar sat along one wall, under framed photos of Chas golfing, skiing, yachting, and generally enjoying the spoils of his wife's labor. An oversized wooden desk sat on the opposite wall, the top of it cleared of any papers and gleaming as if seldom used. A pair of file cabinets sat behind it, along with a bookshelf that housed several leather-bound volumes, none looking as if they were ever read. A large leather chair sat behind the desk, which faced a window overlooking the twinkling lights of the city.

  Beside the bar was a long, low sofa, which was the one thing in the room that looked like it had gotten plenty of use, the cushions indented in all the right places. I wondered if Sadie was the only woman Chas had been getting caught up with at work.

  I noticed several wires coming out of the wall and empty shelving to the right of the desk, where electronics might have sat. Grant had already been there and had taken the computer with him. The detective was thorough.

  "Let's hope Chas was old school when it came to record keeping," Ava said, her gaze landing on the same empty spot in the room that mine had.

  I nodded. "You take the filing cabinets. I'll take the desk."

  Ava started on the paper files, working in total silence, while I looked through the desk drawers. Nothing much there, apart from the usual office flotsam, a couple sticks of gum, and an old copy of Playboy. Ick.

  "Anything?" I asked Ava, starting to feel antsy. I wasn't sure how long we'd been in Chas's office, but it felt like an eternity, each minute that ticked by pushing us one step closer to being found.

  Ava shook her head. "Mostly old accounting files. Lots of expense receipts."

  I moved beside her to look at some. She wasn't kidding when she said there were a lot. Chas had expensed everything from Cuban cigars to $400 sneakers to company accounts. Not only was Chas running through Vivienne's funds, but he was apparently playing fast and loose with corporate ones as well. I wondered if Vivienne knew. Or Sadie, for that matter. Maybe she hadn't so much tired of her Greek god's complications as his spending habits.

  "I'll look through the bookcase," Ava said, leaving me with the receipts.

  I browsed through several more files, finding my opinion of Chas going downhill with each one. If Chas did anything at Price Digital other than spend money, it wasn't evident in his files. In fact, what was evident was that someone in accounting had begun to notice the spending too. I found several expense reimbursement requests marked as denied. Someone had been tightening the purse strings.

  "Whoa."

  I looked up to find Ava holding one of the leather-bound books in her hands.

  "What?" I asked.

  "I found Chas's secret stash."

  I crossed the room to look at the book she was holding. Though, upon closer inspection, it wasn't a useable book at all. Someone had hollowed it out, creating a hiding space inside. One that was filled with a small baggie of white powder.

  I blinked at it. "What is that?"

  Ava shrugged. "I'm guessing it's not baby powder."

  "Cocaine?"

  "No idea." She moved to pick up the baggie.

  "Wait!" I put a hand on her arm to stop her.

  She froze.

  "Don't get your prints on it."

  Ava carefully closed the book back up and wiped the cover of it with the hem of her shirt.

  "If Grant didn't find this the first time, we don't want our prints on it when he comes back."

  She nodded and slowly put the book back on the shelf. I noticed the title on the spine: The Call of the Wild. Chas had had a sense of humor.

  An idea struck me, and I looked over the other titles on the shelf, my eyes falling on a copy of The Black Sheep.

  I pulled the sleeve of my shirt over my hand and reached for the book. I gingerly opened it…

  Bingo.

  It, too, was hollowed out. And inside was a small black notebook.

  Ava's eyes lit up. "Is that what I think it is?'

  I pulled the notebook out, hands still wrapped in my sleeve, and flipped through the pages. Dates. Initials. Dollar amounts. "I think it is."

  Ava did a little victory dance, lifting her feet up and down in a jogging motion. "Ohmigod, we actually found it!"

  While I was dancing with her on the inside, I still felt like we were on borrowed time. I quickly flipped to the last couple of pages. Dates from the last three months. No names, unfortunately, just initials. But it was a start. I pulled my phone out and took a photo, hoping to compare the initials to our guest list from the Spanish party.

  I thumbed back through the last six months' worth of dates, skimming the pages. There seemed to be at least four entries for every date—which I assumed corresponded to the players at each of Chas's games. The sums were staggering, some ranging in the five figures. It was hard to tell exactly what they corresponded to—winnings or losings—but I took photos of several more pages, hoping to figure out Chas's system in the privacy and safety of Ava's loft later.

  I was just photographing the last page, when one of the sets of initials caught my eyes. D.A. While it could have stood for almost anything, I immediately thought of the name David Allen. I scrolled back further, checking for any other entries. For almost every date of a game, there was some entry for D.A. I felt my stomach lifting, puzzle pieces falling into place. David Allen had not only known about his stepfather's illegal poker games, but he'd also been gambling at them. Maybe losing? I checked the last entry for the D.A. initials. The dollar amount listed next to it was thirty grand.

  Was David losing enough to kill over?

  I opened my mouth to tell Ava, but before I could do more than call her name, I heard the ping of the elevators.

  Instinctively, I ducked down to the floor, using Chas's large desk as a shield. Ava did the same, dropping to the carpeted floor.

  "I thought you said there were no security guards," I whispered to her.

  Ava shrugged. "Jenny said there weren't."

  I dared to peek around the corner of the wooden drawers as a flashlight beam cut through the darkness. I ducked back behind the desk, waiting until the beam swept to the other side of the sixth floor, to peek out again to get a look at the shadowed figure holding it. While the dim light made it difficult to make out facial features, I'd know those unmistakable black boots, tight jeans, and broad shoulders anywhere.

  Detective Christopher Grant.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I thought a really dirty word, ducking back down behind the desk again as the flashlight beam made another sweep our way. I wasn't sure what he was looking for, but I knew what I didn't want him to find…two snooping blondes.

  "Is that who I think it is?" Ava whispered to me, peering out from behind the file cabinets where she'd taken refuge.

  I nodded. "Detective Grant."

  I wondered if Grant was investigating suspects beyond Jenny, or if he was only here to find evidence to support his disgruntled former-employee/sister as the killer theory.

  "What do we do now?" I whispered, hearing the soft fall of footsteps as Grant moved around the floor.

  "Confess and ask for mercy?" Ava asked.

  I snorted. "Clearly you don't know Grant as well as I do."

  That earned me a raised eyebrow and a smirk from my friend.

  "Not like that," I said, waving her off. "He's just not the mercy type."

  "Agreed," she whispered. "So plan B?"

  I peeked out the glass wall, scanning the room for any escape routes. Unfortunately, Grant was still standing directly in front of the elevators. To our right was what looked like a small break room. To the left, a restroom.

  "There," I decided. I crossed my fingers, hoping that Grant hadn't brought any female officers who'd had one too many coffees this shift.

  I still had the little black book in my hand, but I didn't dare risk standing erect to put it back on the shelf. Instead, I shoved it under the desk, hoping my sleeve did the trick to obliterate any prints. I glanced out the glass wall again, waiting until Grant's attention was focused on the other side of the room. Then I quickly opened the office door and duck-walked beneath the short cube walls as fast as I could in three-inch heels toward the ladies' room, Ava a waddling step behind me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grant's flashlight beam cut across the room toward Chas's office, his shadowy figure following it in that direction. But I didn't wait to see more, quickly slipping into the ladies' room.

  As soon as the door shut silently behind us, Ava and I leaned against its safety. My breath suddenly seemed loud enough to echo off the walls, coming out in a ragged pant that matched my best friend's.

  "That was close," Ava mumbled.

  I nodded. I could hear footsteps outside the door, drawing closer to Chas's office. "What do you think he's doing here?"

  Ava shrugged. "Same thing we are?"

  I wondered. Had Grant found out about the illegal poker games too? Maybe the detective deserved more credit than I'd previously given him.

  We waited and listened, though once we heard the sound of Chas's office door opening and shutting there wasn't a whole lot more to be heard. Whatever Grant was doing in there was too muffled to pinpoint. We waited some more. Then some more. Then more, until we got so tired of standing, we sat down in stalls next to each other, with the doors open. Then we waited some more. After a further hour by my watch, I opened the restroom door a crack to survey the sixth floor. I strained to hear anything, but all that came back was the steady hum of computer equipment. No light shone from Chas's office. No sign of life anywhere.

  "Is he gone?" Ava whispered at my back.

  I nodded. "I think so."

  Gingerly we exited the ladies' room and did a tiptoe run toward the elevator doors. I let out a sigh of relief as they closed, hugging us into the relative safety of the brightly lit carriage.

  Ava leaned her head backward against the elevator wall, and I could see the anxiety draining off her as well.

  "Think Cagney and Lacey ever got stuck hiding in a restroom?" I joked.

  Ava smirked. "Alright, I give up. We're totally Lucy and Ethel."

  I chuckled as the elevator doors slid open at the lobby, and we power walked as nonchalantly as we could back toward the parking garage and Ava's 1970s getaway car.

  * * *

  Possibly due to a guilty conscience over our near miss with the law, Ava drove just under the speed limit the entire way back to Sonoma, which added a good half hour onto our return trip. By the time she dropped me off at my car, and I'd made the trip to the top of the Oak Valley driveway, I was exhausted, drained, and could think of nothing more wonderful than the big, fluffy white comforter on my bed, beckoning me like a pillowy beacon.

  Unfortunately, as I pulled my keys from my purse and approached the door to my cottage, there was just one obstacle between me and said fluffy comforter. And he stood about six feet in black boots and tight jeans.

  I licked my lips. "Uh, Detective Grant?" I asked.

  His broad shoulders leaned against my doorframe in a casual posture that said he'd been waiting awhile. "Late night?" he asked.

  Instinctively I glanced at my watch. It was past two. "Uh, yeah. I, uh, had a date," I lied.

  One eyebrow rose. "Really?"

  I mentally crossed my fingers behind my back as I nodded. "Yep. A really nice date."

  "Went kind of late, huh?"

  I put one hand on my hip, trying at indignant. "What exactly are you implying?"

  Grant shook his head. "Nothing. Your private life is none of my business."

  "Darn right it's not." Though something about the whole conversation was making me distinctly uncomfortable. And not just the fact that I was fibbing so hard I expected my nose to grow like a birch branch from my face. "Exactly what are you doing here?" I asked, crossing both arms over my chest.

  "New evidence has come to light, and I wanted to ask you some questions."

  "At two in the morning?" I challenged.

  A challenge he ignored, going on as smoothly as silk. "There was a break-in this evening at Price Digital."

  My heart froze. In fact, my entire body froze even as my brain when into overdrive, quickly trying to anticipate what he'd say next and to come up with an appropriate lie to cover it.

  "Oh?" I said, with what I hoped was enough surprise to sound genuine.

  "You don't sound too surprised."

  Drat. I was a really lousy liar.

  I shrugged. "They're a big company. Lots of competitors. I imagine break-ins happen all the time."

  Grant nodded. "I suppose that could be true."

  "How do you know someone broke in?" I asked, praying we hadn't left a trail of evidence.

  "A silent alarm was tripped on the sixth floor."

  I thought my second R-rated word of the night. Jenny hadn't mentioned anything about a silent alarm system. Though, it's possible she hadn't known anything about it.

  "Anything taken?" I asked, fishing for what he knew.

  He took a beat to answer, slowly shaking his head. "No, but items were disturbed. It looked like we caught the thieves in progress."

  If he only knew.

  "Well, nothing taken. No harm done, right?" I said, hoping to gloss over it all.

  Though that hope was probably in vain. Grant's eyes hadn't left my face since the whole date comment. Probably waiting for any sign of guilt. They were staring me down as if the longer they looked, the deeper into my psyche they could see. I watched the little gold flecks dancing, almost hypnotizing me.

  "You don't happen to know why someone would be looking through Chas Pennington's office, do you?"

  "Me?" I squeaked out, my voice high enough to audition for a role in the next Chipmunks movie. I cleared my throat. "Uh, no. I mean, why would I?"

  Grant shrugged. "You seem awfully close to this case."

  "Do I?" I asked on a shaky breath.

  He nodded. "Friends with Jenny. Wooing Mrs. Price-Pennington as a client. Not to mention that your winery was the scene of the crime."

  "You're not blaming me for someone killing Chas at my winery, are you?"

  "No," he said slowly. "But I'd like to think you aren't withholding any information from the authorities."

  I'd like him to think that too.

  "Look, I have no idea who killed Chas Pennington"—sadly, totally true—"but I know it wasn't Jenny"—okay, I was 90% sureish—"and I have total faith that you'll find whoever did." I was 50/50 on that one. But I hoped he'd take to the flattery.

  "Oh, I will," he promised. Though instead of sounding flattered, the comment came out more like a threat. I suddenly felt a teensy bit sorry for whoever had murdered Chas. The wrath of Grant was not something I ever wanted to experience.

 

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