How to Dine on Killer Wine: A Party-Planning Mystery (31 page)

Before I could react, Marie brought down the heavy wine bottle, striking Allison’s head. Allison slumped to the ground like a marionette cut from its strings.

“Marie! What are you doing?” I screamed. Deep down, I knew exactly what she was doing—trying to kill her sister.

And I was next.

So it was Marie who had murdered JoAnne Douglas and Javier Montoya. The pieces of glass on the bottom of her shoes—the shoes Allison wore today and the ones Marie wore to the party—meant Marie was the
one who’d broken the protective glass panel, taken the corkscrew, and stabbed JoAnne. I didn’t know why exactly—to get even with her cheating husband by framing him for the murder?

Marie looked down at Allison’s body, then up at me. She had such a calm, pleased look on her face, I almost didn’t believe what she’d just done.

“Marie, you’re ill,” I said, trying to sound sympathetic instead of totally panicked, which was how I actually felt. “You need to rest. This has all been very traumatic for you. Let me call your doctor.”

“Don’t worry, Presley. I’m not ill or tired or suicidal. I just want to put an end to all this and get on with my life. And you’ve done a lot to help me reach that goal by suspecting Allison of murdering JoAnne.”

I didn’t move, not wanting to provoke her. The most important thing I’d learned in the field of abnormal psychology was to let people talk. Not only would it keep me alive awhile longer, but it would allow Marie to vent. Maybe that would be enough to dissipate her rage.

“Why, Marie? Why did you kill JoAnne Douglas? Because she was threatening your vineyard?”

She held the wine bottle with both hands as she spoke. “That was part of the reason. JoAnne was such a pest to everyone in the county, not just us. But God, I hated that woman. She was always threatening the Purple Grape, trying to close it down, get rid of us. I’m sure she was jealous of all that I had. And then when I found out that she had gotten Allison to sell our wines online at a cheap price—that was the final straw. Dammit, I worked hard to make the winery a success. She
just inherited her winery. The wine community needed to be rid of her. And killing her also gave me the opportunity to get even with Rob”—tears sprang to her eyes—“for cheating on the sanctity of our marriage.”

I wondered if she knew about the letter I’d found in Allison’s shoe box.

“With my own sister,” she continued. “So when I accidentally discovered JoAnne hiding under the party table, ready to ruin our special event by throwing green paint at our guests, I got the idea to kill one bird—JoAnne the wine pest—and destroy the other—Rob the cheating husband.”

“So you planted the corkscrew at the scene,” I said, confirming what I’d guessed.

She nodded. “I broke the glass on his collection with one of your corkscrews, Presley, then got that antique screw with the big handle from the case and replaced it with yours so it would look like Rob did it. When I got back to the pouring table, I grabbed a bottle”—she hefted the one in her hands—“ducked down, and hit her over the head. While she lay there unconscious, I tried to stab her with the corkscrew, but it wouldn’t go in, so I grabbed a cheese knife. That did the trick. Then I jabbed in the corkscrew to make a point, wiped both clean, and went back to pouring wine as if nothing had happened.”

Recalling Rob’s letter to Allison, I said, “But Rob loved you. If he cheated on you, I’m sure he regrets it.”

“Maybe. But I couldn’t forgive him. Neither of them. I took in my sister when she needed a place to live and gave her a job, and that’s how she repaid me—by sleeping with my husband, not to mention nearly every other man in the county. She’s always been jealous of
me and what I have, but when she took something I loved and ruined it, I’d had enough.”

“But you didn’t frame her. You framed your own husband,” I said, while glancing out of the corner of my eye for something to defend myself with. No doubt Marie had used a wine bottle to hit Javier over the head too, before she drowned him. Unlike on TV, where bottles seem to shatter easily, this one was as solid and dangerous as a rock.

“Oh, but I didn’t want to kill Rob. That would have been too quick and easy. I wanted him to suffer for years in jail. After he was arrested, I planned to get Allison arrested for the murder of Javier and for trying to kill me.”

Still puzzled, I frowned, all the while alert to her every move. “But how?”

“My suicide attempt? I made it look like someone actually tried to kill me. And Allison was the most obvious suspect. But everyone seemed to miss the clues, in spite of the fact that I tried to make it clear. So I had to come up with a new plan.” She glanced at Allison lying lifeless on the floor. “The way I see it now, you broke into Allison’s room…she attacked you…and you hit her over the head with the wine bottle.”

“Like you did Javier?”

“Poor Javier. He saw me cleaning the broken glass from the hallway that night. And that was fine, except later, he caught me putting my medication in Allison’s medicine cabinet to frame her for attempting to murder me. I told him to keep his mouth shut, but I didn’t trust him. So I called him into the storage building and asked him to retrieve my ring, which had ‘fallen’ into the
wine vat. While he was leaning in, I hit him over the head with a wine bottle and pushed him under so he’d drown. Then I dropped the ring in so it would look like he’d been caught with some of my jewelry.”

I sensed my time was about up. I thought about trying to make a run for it, but Marie stood between me and the door—and she held a mean-looking bottle of merlot in her hands. Plus, I didn’t see any way to defend myself if she came at me, other than a good old-fashioned catfight.

Marie’s eyes narrowed. She raised the bottle, ready to pounce like a panther.

Just as she started to lunge, she suddenly screamed. Twisting around, she lost her balance and fell to the floor. The bottle dropped from her hand and onto the tile floor, where it burst and shattered, flooding the area with purple liquid.

I looked down in horror, trying to figure out what had happened.

Allison, her eyes wide but still lying on the floor, had Marie by the ankle and was digging her sharp, fashionable nails into her sister’s leg.

Marie screamed again as she tried to shake her leg free of Allison’s clawed grip. The two struggled, Marie on top of Allison, biting and scratching and pulling her hair. A regular girl fight. I ran around the scuffle to Allison’s bed, yanked off the wine-themed coverlet, threw it over both of them, and fell on top of it.

Allison’s head poked out at the side of the coverlet. I rolled a little, focusing my weight on Marie’s body, allowing Allison to slither out. She pushed herself to a wobbly standing position.

“Grab some belts or something!” I yelled.

Allison went to her closet and returned with two belts, while Marie continued to flail and scream beneath the cover.

“Help me roll her up!”

Allison knelt down on one side and tucked the coverlet under Marie, while I slid off and began rolling her body up like a mummy. The kicking subsided and the screaming became muffled.

“The belts!” I said, lying on top of the encased Marie.

She took one and cinched it around Marie’s legs, then did the same at the top of Marie’s head.

I sat up on the floor next to Marie, puffing, exhausted from trying to hold her down. I could hear Marie sobbing quietly from under the cover, no longer struggling.

“Hand me my phone,” I said breathlessly. While Allison sat down and rubbed the back of her head, I called 911. She probably had a concussion and would need medical attention. While waiting for the Napa police, I called Brad. I heard a phone ringing in the distance.

“Brad?” I yelled, pulling the phone from my ear.

“Presley?” he hollered back.

“Down here!” I headed for the door. “In Allison’s room.”

Brad appeared in the hallway in his jeans and a blue T-shirt, then entered the room and took in the scene. He glanced first at me, then spotted Allison on the bed, and finally saw the burrito-wrapped body of Marie.

“What’s going on?”

“Long story,” I said, collapsing on the bed next to Allison.

“Who’s in the cocoon?”

“Marie.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Afraid not.”

“But I thought…,” he started to say.

Allison looked at me. “You thought it was me, didn’t you, Presley?”

I pressed my lips together. “Sort of. I mean, you were the one who seemed jealous of Marie, not the other way around. But apparently she found out about your little dalliance with her husband and couldn’t handle it.”

“So she killed JoAnne?” Allison said, the pieces coming together for her.

I told her what Marie had confessed a few minutes before Allison regained consciousness and grabbed Marie’s ankle.

“Wow,” Allison said, her body deflating like a balloon. “I never knew she hated me that much. And I never told her about Rob and me…I wonder how she found out.”

I heard sirens.

Moments later someone called, “Police!”

“Down here!” I called back.

Detective Kelly appeared at the door with three officers.

He surveyed the room and nodded toward the form on the floor. She looked like a giant party popper. “What have we here?”

“Your murderer,” I said.

“Really? Who’s in there?” he asked.

“Marie Christopher. She killed JoAnne and Javier and tried to kill Allison. I was next on her list. But thanks to Allison…” I shot her a thank-you look. She nodded.

Detective Kelly signaled the other officers to take over. While two officers unrolled Marie, a third stood ready with cuffs and a Taser. EMTs arrived moments later to check on Allison. It wasn’t long before Marie was taken into custody, read her rights, and led out of the room. As she passed by me, her head down, her hands behind her back, she looked like a broken woman.

Meanwhile Allison was placed on a gurney. She was covered in bites, scratches, and bruises and had a lump on the back of her head.

“Wait!” I said as the EMTs started to wheel her away to the ambulance. “Allison?”

She looked up at me, tired and depressed, not like the perky, flirtatious woman she usually was.

She sighed. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“You saved my life back there.”

“Hey, I saved my own life. I’m sure she would have finished the job if she’d known I’d come to.”

As the paramedics pushed Allison down the hall, I wondered if this would be a new beginning for her. Or would she continue to lie, cheat, and steal, as she had for so many years? No doubt she’d be leaving the Purple Grape, now that her sister was headed for prison and her brother-in-law was returning. But she still had her bingo games and her sugar-daddy connections at the hall. I had a feeling she’d bounce back quickly.

After one of the EMTs checked a couple of minor
cuts on my ankle from when the wine bottle shattered, Brad, Detective Kelly, and I went to the kitchen, where the detective took my statement. I explained how the shoes led to the killer—that when Marie had broken the glass and taken the corkscrew, she’d picked up pieces of broken glass on the soles of her shoes. Her attack on Allison would pretty much cinch it for her.

“Will you be releasing Rob now?” I asked, wondering how he would take the news that his wife was a murderer.

“Soon,” the detective said. “Good thing, since he would have needed a new lawyer.”

“What?”

“Kyle Bennett quit. Didn’t give a reason, just said something about ‘conflict of interest.’ But Rob doesn’t really need a lawyer at this point. I’m sure he’ll be free by the end of the day. His wife, however, is going to need legal representation.”

“What’s going to happen to JoAnne’s winery?”

“I hear it’s going up for sale. You in the market?”

I laughed and shook my head.

“Too bad. Napology will probably absorb it.”

“Maybe Rob can take it over,” I suggested. “He’s been wanting to expand. But talk about irony…”

“Well,” Detective Kelly said, “the next time you’re up in the wine country for a tasting, give me a ring so I can call all my off-duty guys as backup.”

“Very funny,” I said.

The detective shook hands with Brad and me, then drove off, leaving us alone at the Purple Grape.

“You all right?” Brad asked, looking me over carefully.

I nodded, glad he was there. On our way out, I dropped the house key on the table—I wouldn’t be needing it again—and we made our way to the front garden, where all the trouble had begun. I took Brad’s hand as we walked and thought about how the wine country was supposed to be so mellow, like a glass of hearty merlot. Instead, it had fizzed like a shaken bottle of champagne, about to blow its top.

“I suppose it’s too early in the day for a glass of wine,” I said.

“Tell you what,” Brad said. “Let’s head back to civilization, catch up on work, then I’ll take you out for a nice romantic dinner and you can tell me all the details I missed. How does that sound?”

I kissed him my answer. Amazingly, his lips tasted like sweet wine.