How to Dine on Killer Wine: A Party-Planning Mystery (30 page)

No sparkles. No sign of broken glass on the bottom of his shoes. Just scuff marks.

I put the shoe back in the closet and was about to stand up when I heard, “Hey! Get out of there!”

Kyle stood in the bedroom doorway, his face twisted half in anger, half in disbelief.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I raised my phone and turned it toward him as if it were some kind of weapon.

“What are you going to do with that?” he said, almost laughing. “Phone me to death? You got an app for that?”

“Very funny. As a matter of fact, I have the police on the other end of the phone. I told them if anything happened to me, they’d know exactly where I was and who I was with.” I said Kyle’s name and gave his address. “They’ve been listening the whole time.”

Kyle lunged for the phone. “Give me that!” he said, snatching it from my hand. “Hello? Who is this?”

I couldn’t make out what Dee said, but I hoped it was something like “the Napa Police Department.” She was a good actress; she would improvise. I just hoped that high-pitched baby voice didn’t give her away.

“Yeah? Well, you don’t sound like a cop to me, sweetheart.”

With that, he touched the button on the phone, ending the call.

“That was stupid,” I said. “The police know I’m with you. They’ll be here any minute.”

“Really? Well, then I’d advise you to get your ass out of here before they arrest you for breaking and entering.”

My jaw went slack. “I didn’t break in! You let me in!”

“That’s not the way I’m going to tell it.”

“But they heard everything on the phone.”

He touched another button, looked at the screen, then smiled, those bright white capped teeth nearly glinting in the artificial light. “Your last call wasn’t to the Napa Police Department. It was a four-one-five
number to someone named Delicia Jackson. Isn’t she your party friend—the one who played the wine queen at the party? I think I hit on her.”

Busted!

“Give me my phone,” I demanded, reaching out a hand.

“What are you after, Presley? You think I killed JoAnne? You’re nuts, you know that, right? If I killed off my clients, I wouldn’t make any money. Don’t you get that?”

I grabbed my phone back and headed for the door.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I don’t think you killed JoAnne now. But I do think you’re a lousy lawyer. And I’ll do anything I can to get you disbarred if you don’t get Rob out.”

I slammed the door behind me, my hands shaking from the emotional confrontation, and took the stairs down, two steps at a time. I couldn’t get away from that shyster fast enough.

The phone rang as soon as I got in my MINI. Brad. Thank God.

“Hi,” I answered, almost breathlessly.

“I’ve been calling you! It keeps going to voice mail. What’s going on? You okay?”

“Sorry. I’ve been on the phone with Dee. Any chance you can come back to the Purple Grape soon? I think I’m onto something.”

“Did you find out who killed JoAnne?”

“Not exactly, but I think I can find the physical evidence that proves who the killer is. I’d love your help.”

“I should be there in a couple of hours. But listen to me, Presley. Do nothing until I get there, understood?”

“Believe me, all I’m going to do is get the evidence. I don’t plan on confronting the killer or doing anything stupid. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Yeah, sure you have,” I heard him mumble. Then louder, “Hang tight. I’m serious. I’ll see you soon.”

“Ten-four,” I said, quoting some TV police show.

“Knock it off, Presley. You’re not a cop; you’re a party planner. Please try to remember that.”

I hung up, feeling a whole lot better knowing Brad was on the way. Now all I had to do was one last thing to prove my theory—that Allison had killed JoAnne in order to frame Rob, and then killed Javier because he probably knew too much. I was certain she’d also tried to kill her own sister so she’d inherit the winery.

Unfortunately, that meant if Allison was home, I’d have to get her out of the house and me into her bedroom again.

I punched in the number of the Purple Grape.

“Hello?” It was Allison. Marie was probably still sleeping. At least, I hoped she was only sleeping…

“Hey, Allison, this is Presley. I think I know who the killer is, but I need your help. Would you meet me at Kyle’s apartment as soon as you can?”

She hesitated, then said, “You know who killed JoAnne?”

“Yes, and I think I can prove it, but I need your help.”

“Why do you want to meet at Kyle’s? Do you think he’s the killer?”

“I don’t want to say anything over the phone. Do you know where he lives?”

“Yeah, he has an apartment downtown.”

“Good. Hurry.”

I hung up, feeling a tingle all over my body. Dee was right—this was exciting! I had Allison running around on a wild-goose chase, giving me the chance to check on Marie and snoop around in her room.

I drove out of Kyle’s apartment parking lot charged with adrenaline and headed for the Purple Grape.

In spite of the multiple ribbons of crime scene tape, the winery looked peaceful, belying its recent murderous history. I didn’t see Allison’s car and figured she had to be nearly at Kyle’s by now. She’d probably wait for me there for ten minutes or so, then give up and return home, giving me about half an hour total to find what I was looking for.

As they say in the party biz, piece of cake.

Using the key I still had, I let myself into the house. The place was as quiet as a room full of partiers waiting to yell, “Surprise!” to an unsuspecting guest of honor. I just hoped there were no surprises waiting for me.

My first stop was Rob and Marie’s bedroom. I wanted to make sure she was all right. I wouldn’t put it past Allison to try to get rid of her sister again, after failing at her first attempt.

I knocked quietly on Marie’s door.

No answer. I shuddered, thinking of the possibilities.

Turning the knob, I opened the door and peered into the darkness. The shades were still drawn, the only
light coming from the hallway behind me. I moved to the bed and gently put a hand on the rumpled covers.

“Marie?” I said softly, not wanting to startle her.

The covers felt soft. I pressed down harder to give her body a little shake.

My hand met the firmness of the bed.

I threw back the covers.

Marie was gone.

“Marie!” I shouted, starting to panic. I felt tiny beads of perspiration break out on my forehead and down my back. My heart rate went into hyperspeed.

Maybe she’s in the bathroom,
I thought. I dashed over; the door was open but the room was empty.

Could she have gone with Allison on the wild-goose chase I’d arranged? Or was she wandering the winery again, possibly disoriented? Maybe wounded?

Or even floating in a barrel of wine, like Javier? I shivered at the thought.

I searched the rest of the house, calling her name, but found no sign of her. The only place I hadn’t searched was Allison’s room. I ran down the hall and tried her door.

Locked.

I tried the knob again. No use. It wasn’t going to give just because I tried again. I had to get in there, if not to make sure Marie wasn’t inside, then to find the evidence I needed to prove Allison was the killer.

I remembered seeing a sliding glass door that led from the living area of the house to the backyard patio. I raced down the hall, opened the sliding door, and sped outside and over to Allison’s room. There were two windows, about three by four feet, that looked out from her room, but they were covered with lavender curtains that prevented me from seeing inside. I remembered seeing a bureau under one of the windows. The left? Or the right?

I looked around for something to stand on and something else to break the window. What was a broken window at this point? If I had to explain, I could always say I was worried Marie was inside and possibly in danger. Locating a stone statue the size of a toddler—of a cherub holding a bunch of grapes—I yanked it up from its spot on the patio and hefted it over to the window. I set it down, then found a wrought-iron chair sitting next to a tiled café table and carried it over.

Stepping carefully onto the chair, I leaned down and hoisted the statue up. Though it was the size of a toddler, the thing weighed a ton. I closed my eyes, turned my head, and swung the statue into the window. Glass went flying, reminding me instantly of the smashed display case. This wasn’t the first time glass had been shattered recently at the Purple Grape. And shattered glass was the main reason I was now breaking into Allison’s room. Literally.

I dropped the statue, removed my Mary Jane and used the bottom to scrape off any broken glass that remained
on the windowsill. After slipping the shoe back on, I lifted my leg over the sill as gingerly as I could, pushing aside the curtains as if they were heavy cobwebs. I climbed through and stepped onto the top of the bureau, then brought in my other leg. Squatting down, I swiped off the broken glass from the bureau with my shoe. Moments later I was standing on the floor in Allison’s room.

No Marie.

I zipped over to the closet where I’d hidden myself earlier. No Marie there either.

Kneeling down, I shuffled through all the shoes that rested in boxes on the floor. Coming up empty, I pulled down the boxes from the top of the closet and examined them. No party shoes here either.

I was about to check the last box when a shaft of light came from the bedroom door.

The door was open.

I started and whirled around.

Allison stood in the doorway. She was staring at the broken window, the pieces of glass on the floor around the bureau, her face livid with rage.

Then she looked at me.

“What the hell are you doing in my room!” she screamed. In her hand, something silver glinted.

Caught off guard, I tried to think of a good excuse for breaking her window, climbing in, and going through her closet.

Yeah, right.

“Uh…,” was all I could manage. My heart was beating faster than a ticking time bomb. Finally I said, “I was looking for Marie…She’s missing…”

“And you thought she might be in my closet?” She
stared at me in disbelief, one hand on her hip, the other tightly gripping the shiny object. A corkscrew? A small knife? A glass shard? Just about anything could be used as a weapon in the wrong hands.

I grabbed one of the stiletto shoes from the box I still held and gripped it like a hammer. A single black Prada with a three-inch heel was all I had to defend myself. I might have been able to kill a spider with it, but not much else.

Then it dawned on me. The shoe in my hand belonged to the pair that Allison had worn to the party.

“I panicked when I couldn’t find her,” I said, stalling. I flipped the shoe over and checked the sole.

At the same time, Allison took a step forward. Reflexively, I looked down at her shoes.

Plum-colored Kate Spade flats that complemented her pink top and white shorts.

They looked just like the ones Marie had worn to the party. I remembered how perfectly they’d matched Marie’s plum outfit.

“You have shoes exactly like Marie’s?” I said, puzzled.

Allison frowned as if I’d truly lost my mind.

“Those.” I pointed to the ones on her feet and felt the hairs on my arms stand up.

“They’re Marie’s, not mine. We wear the same size. But what has this got to do with anything? You broke into my room to steal God knows what and you’re asking about shoes. I’m calling the police.” She tossed the shiny object on her bed.

Her room key. It was attached to one of my wine-opener key chains.

She reached for something in her pocket.

I tensed up again.

She pulled out her cell phone.

“Wait!” I said, dropping the shoe I held in my hand. “I need to see those shoes!”

“What is wrong with you, Presley? I’m beginning to think
you’re
the murderer, the way you’re behaving!”

“Please, Allison! Just take off your shoes and let me see them.”

Without releasing her cell phone, she kicked off one of the flats.

I reached down and retrieved it, then turned it over. The sole sparkled in the light coming through the doorway.

Not exactly diamonds on the soles of her shoes.

More like bits of broken glass.

Before I could say the name out loud, a shadow suddenly blocked the shaft of light.

My mouth went dry. My heart thudded against my chest.

Marie stood in the doorway.

She held a bottle of wine over her head.