How to Dine on Killer Wine: A Party-Planning Mystery (29 page)

The temp? Perfect.

I looked in the direction he pointed. “That’s his office?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes.” The gardener smiled, revealing a gold-capped tooth. “Mrs. McLaughlin designed the winery, but Mr. McLaughlin built his office like a cabin. It’s a replica of the one he owns in Montana.”

“Ah, so they compromised,” I said. “How do I get in the gate?”

The gardener pulled out a key card from his pocket and swiped it through a metal lock.

“Thank you!” I said, hoping I wouldn’t be responsible for the man getting fired for letting me in under false pretenses.

When I reached the door of the log-style cabin, I
knocked and heard a booming “Come in!” from inside. Hesitating for a second, I opened the door.

“Come on, come on!” the voice came again. “You’re late.”

What a pompous ass,
I thought. How long could I play along with this ruse without smacking him? I’d find out soon enough.

“Yes, sir,” I said, slowly approaching his massive oak desk, which was roughly carved and notched and stretched nearly six feet across. Two large green leather chairs faced the desk, both resting on top of a white fur pelt. The heads of several animals—deer, boar, and coyote—appeared to lunge from oval plaques on the surrounding walls. Another wall held the hunter’s rifle and gun collection in a locked case.

Uh-oh. Who was I about to confront?

“Your desk is over there.” The big man pointed with a diamond-ring-studded pinky finger to a smaller desk in the corner. The desk, topped with a computer, faced out, toward McLaughlin.

I glanced at the desk, then back at the man. He was round faced, with a red and splotchy complexion, a bulbous boxer-type nose, and thinning gray hair greased back. Gold rings covered his fingers, matching a gold bracelet and gold chain around his neck. The gray silk shirt he wore was open enough to allow curly gray chest hairs to peek out. Sitting behind his desk, he could have been stark naked from the waist down, for all I knew. Where had that thought come from?

“Uh, yes, sir,” I said again, not quite sure what he expected me to do. Go sit down and start typing?

“The temp agency said you type eighty words a
minute. That true? ’Cause I need someone who’s competent this time.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” I said, standing at attention like a good little employee. I hoped the real temp didn’t show up anytime soon. This opportunity was golden.

“Well, get to work, then. I need you to retype those forms on the desk and make the corrections I indicated.”

I sat down at the desk and moved the pile to my right, as if preparing to do his bidding. Instead, I opened up Word and searched the files for anything that might look interesting.

Like “Payroll.”

I opened the file, scanned the list of employees, and found Kyle Bennett’s name, with the amount ten thousand dollars next to it.

Wow. Another ten grand? What was the lawyer doing for this man that was worth so much money?

I scrolled down farther, checking for other familiar names. There were several restaurants listed I recognized, some shops, and the Napa County Bingo Hall. I stopped when I discovered Allison’s name. Next to it was the number five thousand.

Why was Angus McLaughlin paying Allison five thousand dollars?

“What’s the hold-up?” Angus called out, his curly white eyebrows meeting at the center of his deeply lined forehead.

“I was just getting organized,” I said lamely. “I think I opened the payroll file by accident.”

“Well, close it and get to work!” he huffed.

“Okay, but I was just wondering why Allison’s name
is on your payroll list. Doesn’t she work for the Purple Grape Winery?”

Angus put down the papers he’d been holding in his hands and looked at me oddly. “Excuse me?”

The jig was up. I stood, ready for fight or flight.

Angus’s blotchy face grew redder. He stood too, sending a stack of papers flying. “Who the hell are you?”

I grabbed my purse and dashed halfway to the door in order to make a quick getaway in case he went for the gun cabinet.

“I just think it’s odd that you have so many businesses on your payroll—restaurants, shops, even the bingo hall. Are you paying kickbacks to all these places, Mr. McLaughlin? In exchange for what—information? Influence?”

Oh boy, I was asking for it now. I took another step closer to the door.

“Get the hell out of here!” the man sputtered. “How dare you…”

McLaughlin came around the desk on wobbly, bowed legs, using the desk as support—and wearing pants, luckily. I guessed he had some sort of hip or leg problems that slowed him down physically. Reaching over, he picked up a cane I hadn’t noticed lying on the edge of the desk—I’d thought it was some kind of rustic decoration—and waved it threateningly at me.

“I know who you are! You’re that snoop from the party that can’t keep her nose out of other people’s business. Kyle told me about you.” He whacked the cane on the desk, and it made a loud, threatening crack.

I reached the front door and took hold of the knob.

“And you’re the man who’s
trying to buy up all of Napa, including the Purple Grape. Are you also the one who murdered JoAnne Douglas because she got in your way? And Javier Montoya because he found out about JoAnne?”

I was taunting him, randomly making up stuff, but what the hell. I figured I could make a run for it and he wouldn’t get far in his condition. And maybe, in his anger, he’d spill something important by accident.

To my surprise, he came at me, swinging his cane.

I yanked open the door and came face-to-face with a pretty young blond woman.

“He’s all yours!” I said, and fled outside and out of McLaughlin’s reach. When I got to the other side of the gate, I looked back.

The door to the cabin slammed shut. The girl still stood at the doorway, looking completely bewildered.

Thank God,
I thought, panting from the adrenaline rush.

The gardener, working near the gate, stopped trimming a rosebush and stared at me quizzically.

“Mr. McLaughlin didn’t like my résumé,” I explained, forcing a casual smile at him.

The gardener nodded as if he understood and resumed his snipping. A perfect, long-stemmed red rose came off in his gloved hand.

Stepping through the gate, I said, “The roses are beautiful.”

The gardener offered me the bloodred rose in his hand. “For you, señorita,” he said, and gave a small bow.

I took the flower and inhaled its fragrance. “Thank you!”

“
De nada.
Have a nice day.”

I smelled the flower again on the way back to my car, then unlocked the door and ducked inside. As I lay the long-stemmed rose on the passenger seat, my thumb caught on one of the thorns.

“Ouch!” I said aloud, and pulled the wound to my mouth.

After the bleeding subsided, I looked at my throbbing thumb. It was the second time I’d drawn blood during this investigation. This time, it was just a painful nuisance.

But that’s when I realized the first time had been a significant clue.

I had cut myself on a piece of glass from the broken pane in the hallway. Whoever had broken the glass to take the corkscrew had cleaned it up but overlooked a shard or two. That had to be the killer—someone who’d made it look like Rob killed JoAnne by placing Rob’s antique weapon at the scene.

All I had to do was find the physical evidence.

And I now knew how to do just that—pay a visit to everyone at the party who had a reason to either kill JoAnne or frame Rob. That let out Angus McLaughlin. He wasn’t at the party, unless he was hiding somewhere—and with those bum hips, I doubted he did much on-site dirty work. Then again, he could have paid someone to do it—like Kyle, who was apparently
getting checks from the old recluse, not to mention Allison. I put McLaughlin back on my list.

As for the rest of my suspects, I had to revisit a few people on my list. Figuring Kyle and Allison were the two most likely prospects, I decided to start with them. I knew they wouldn’t be very cooperative, but I’d just have to get around that.

Somehow.

I called Kyle, wishing I could use the standard “I have some important new information for you” trick, but I’d done that last time. I needed to come up with some other ruse. My throbbing thumb gave me an answer.

“Hello,” Kyle answered.

“Kyle, this is Presley.”

“What do you want? I’m busy.” He sounded agitated.

“I just came from Angus McLaughlin’s cabin.” I waited, letting that bulletin worm its way into his heart.

Silence on the other end, then, “Yeah? So what did he say?”

“Enough to get you disbarred,” I said, bluffing. “I think I can save your butt, but you’ll have to meet me as soon as you can.”

I expected Kyle to argue, but instead he said, “Where?”

“Not your office. That place is obviously a front. And certainly not at Napology—if that’s where you keep your real office. How about your home?”

“Why not the café?”

“It has to be private. Where do you live?”

He gave me an address in an apartment building in the newer part of town. “I’ll see you there in about twenty minutes.”

“You better not be playing more games, Presley. I’m tired of your accusations and amateur sleuthing. If this is another wild-goose chase, I swear, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” I interrupted him. “Kill me?”

The line went dead.

That went well. I knew I was taking a risk meeting Kyle at his home, but I had a protection plan. For backup, I called Brad, left a message on his phone where I’d be, then called Delicia, who answered on the first ring.

“Pres! Where are you? Ever since your Killer Wine-Tasting Party made the news, the phone’s been ringing off the hook. You’re going to have to pay me overtime for all the messages I’ve taken!”

“Dee, I need you to listen,” I said, trying to calm her down.

I told her my plan, then hung up and drove to the address that Kyle had given me. He lived in a gated two-story apartment complex, lavishly landscaped and obviously exclusive. It fit his expensive taste and showy personality. His unit was on the second floor, overlooking a large swimming pool and tennis courts. It obviously hadn’t come cheap.

I knocked. While I waited for Kyle to answer the door, I redialed Dee.

“You there?” I said softly into the phone.

“Yep. You’re coming in loud and clear.”

“Okay, don’t hang up or I’m screwed.”

“Got it! This is so exiting!”

“Shh!” I said, just as the door opened. I lowered the phone as if I were done talking and put it in my purse, making sure the speaker was unobstructed. I hoped he’d figure I’d told someone where I was, but I still had my backup plan.

“Come in,” Kyle said, sighing and frowning at my intrusion. Dressed in the same expensive suit he’d been wearing earlier, he gestured for me to enter. I took a quick look around at the expansive living area, staged with model-home furniture and matching artwork. It looked as if Kyle didn’t spend a lot of time here—at least not in the living room. There were no magazines on the coffee table, no jackets on the back of the chairs, nothing personal to indicate a human being lived in the place. I peered into the adjoining kitchen. Not a single dish in view. He probably ate out, avoiding the whole kitchen area completely.

“Nice place,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it. I hoped Dee could still hear me.

“I’m not home much,” he said. “I sleep, change clothes, and go.”

I nodded. “Mind if I see the rest of the place? It’s so…interesting.”

Kyle put his hands on his hips, looking impatient. “Listen, Presley, I didn’t drop everything to give you a house tour. I’m beginning to think you’re the party planner who cried wolf. What is it you wanted to tell me that supposedly will save my career? I have to get back to the jail and Rob.”

“Are they going to release him?”

“I don’t know. I’m working on it.”

“Okay, but first, do you mind if I use your bathroom? Too much coffee,” I said, patting my tummy.

Kyle let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. Down the hall, on the right.”

“Thanks. Be right back.”

As soon as I reached the bathroom, I closed the door as if I had entered, and instead moved on to Kyle’s bedroom.

“Dee?” I whispered into my purse. “Can you still hear me?” I held the purse up to my ear.

“Yes!” she whispered back.

I crossed the room to the closet on the far side of the room and did a quick and quiet search. Kneeling down, I found what I was looking for—his shoes. Specifically, the Ferragamos he’d worn to the party. My shoe-store stint during my college days, combined with my knowledge of ab-psych, had taught me a lot about a person’s personality. But this time I wasn’t interested in diagnosing Kyle as a sociopath or obsessive-compulsive.

I just wanted to see his sole.

I picked up one of the shoes and turned it over. Pulling out my cell phone, I touched the screen to make the light come on, hoping I didn’t accidentally disconnect from Dee, and held it over the sole.