In the tow truck, Fred turned the key in the ignition. “Why don’t I drop you folks off at Luz’s place, and then I’ll take the car into the mechanic for you. I’ll call when I have an update.”
“That’d be great,” replied Vicente, fiddling with the AC vent. “Really appreciate you coming out so quickly.”
“Benefit of being a tow truck driver in a fairly small town—I usually get three or four calls a day from people in the surrounding area, but not so many that I get backed up with multiple urgent calls very often. Which is especially good on a hot day like this. Glad you folks were all right.”
I didn’t say anything. I was wedged between Fred and Vicente in the cab of the truck, grateful for our ride to the vineyard but still steaming over the cover story Vicente had invented.
Hello, 911? I’d like to report a murder. The victim? My dignity.
I shot Vicente a death glare that burned hotter than the California sun, but he ignored me.
If he expects me to giggle and hold his hand and act like we’re in love, he’s got another think coming.
The tow truck eased out onto the road. “So,” Fred said. “When’s the wedding?”
Vicente said, “In a few—”
“We’re still discussing that,” I interjected coolly. “There’s been a little trouble in paradise, I’m afraid.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a look of amusement on Vicente’s face.
Two can play this game. If he was going to dress me up as his fiancée, I was going to set the terms of the “relationship.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Fred apologetically. There was an awkward pause. “What brings you out to Golden?”
“Visiting Luz and my abuela,” said Vicente. “Kate hasn’t met them yet.”
Fred nodded and tapped on the steering wheel. “Where do you guys live?”
“San Francisco,” we said in unison.
Fred chuckled. “Oh, that really is paradise. Especially in the summer. Hope there’s not too much trouble there.”
A photograph on the dashboard caught my eye—a little girl, perhaps five or six, with sandy-colored hair that exactly matched Fred’s.
“Is that your daughter?” I asked, glad for an excuse to change the subject.
A huge smile crossed Fred’s face. “That’s Julie. Picture’s from a couple years ago. She’s eight now.”
“Is she your only child?”
“Yup!” he said. “It’s just the two of us. She’s my whole world.”
Just the two of us? That sweet child didn’t have a mother?
As if he could read my thoughts, he added, “My ex-wife ran out on us when Julie was eleven months old. We get a postcard every few months and a phone call once a year or so, but that’s about it. She’s surfing in Kuta last I heard.”
Laurie was eleven months old. My heart broke. I couldn’t imagine abandoning Jim and my baby like that. The very thought made me want to run home and scoop Laurie up and hold her close. But I stuffed the thought away—it didn’t go with Vicente’s stupid cover story.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m pregnant with twins, and I love the babies so much already.”
“Hey, that’s great!” Fred exclaimed. “Congrats, you two!”
Irritation flashed through me. Of course he’d conclude Vicente was the father. The very thought made my face warm.
Couldn’t Vicente have used any other story?
If we ever went undercover together again, we’d plan this part ahead. Or, even better—I would blurt out the embarrassing cover story before he had a chance to. Maybe I’d say I was his court-appointed psychiatrist doing an in-the-field assessment of his sanity.
Or his attorney, making sure he didn’t incriminate himself in a pending felony case.
Or his personal doctor, ensuring his continual access to his . . . ahem, performance meds for his difficulties with intimacy.
The thought brought a genuine smile to my face.
After a few minutes of awkward chitchat in which I very determinedly gave Vicente the cold shoulder, the truck turned onto a long driveway.
“The vineyard and winery.” Vicente gestured out the window. Fields of grapevines extended in either direction, and ahead, I could see a couple buildings on a hill. It seemed like there might be a few other outbuildings, but they were hidden among pine trees.
Absolutely beautiful.
A couple minutes later, we pulled up to a lovely Mediterranean-style house.
“Here you are!” said Fred. “Vicente, let me get your cell phone number so I can let you know what the mechanic says.”
They exchanged numbers, and then Vicente scooted out of the truck. As I moved to follow him, he reached out to help me out of the cab. I scowled and grabbed a handle instead, carefully jumping to the ground. Pain jolted through my knees on impact, but I trained a defiant expression on Vicente. He shot me a sheepish grin in return.
As Fred’s truck pulled away down the driveway, I snapped, “What the heck were you thinking, ambushing me like that?”
“Sorry, querida,” he replied with a shrug. “Seemed like an explanation that wouldn’t raise too many questions. My compliments on your recovery from the surprise. I knew I could count on your theater background. Well, shall we go in and meet Luz?”
“Only if you’re not going to make me pretend to be your fiancée.”
“Not for Luz,” he said slowly. “She knows you’re a PI. But if we could keep up the pretense around my abuela? Luz doesn’t want to worry her. Abuela had a heart attack a year ago, and the doctor says she needs to avoid stress, so Luz hasn’t told her about the sabotage, or any of the vineyard’s troubles.”
“You want me to lie to your grandmother about being your fiancée?” I snapped.
“Don’t worry. She won’t take it too seriously. I’ve been engaged three times but never made it to the wedding.”
“Of course you have,” I muttered. “So now I just have to play yet another poor girl caught in the web of Vicente Domingo’s so-called charm.”
He looked almost wounded, but his eyes twinkled. “When you phrase it that way, you make me sound monstrous.”
I shifted my purse to the other shoulder. “Let’s just get this case solved so I can go back to being Mrs. Kate Connolly. How on earth am I supposed to explain this to my husband?”
He shrugged. “He doesn’t seem like the jealous type.”
Vicente was right, of course. But that didn’t mean I had to like it.
“I am not sharing a room with you,” I warned.
He raised his hands in surrender. “Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
And with that, he knocked on the door.
A moment later, we were greeted by a lovely woman in her thirties, with olive skin and a warm expression. The family resemblance to Vicente was undeniable. Her dark curls spilled around her shoulders, and her eyes were red-rimmed.
“Luz!” Vicente exclaimed. “What’s wrong?”
“Vicente!” she replied, barreling into his arms for a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She pulled back and reached out to shake my hand. “And you must be Kate. Thank you so much for coming. I’m . . . kind of desperate for help, to tell you the truth.
“It’s my pleasure, truly. Your brother Gary has gotten me out a lot of jams.”
Luz smiled but Vicente looked affronted. “Gary? What about me? I think I’ve gotten you—”
Luz shoved him before he could finish. “Kate, please, come in.”
Vicente held up a hand. “Hang on! You’re going to have to introduce Kate to abuela as my fiancée. My car broke down on the way here, and that’s the cover story we gave to the tow truck driver.”
Luz stared at him, then glanced at me. “Please tell me you ran that story by her first.”
Vicente shrugged, a gleam in his eye.
Luz smacked his arm, her warmth giving way to exasperation. “Vicentito!” she scolded. “Esta embarazada!” Though her English was unaccented, she’d switched effortlessly into scolding him in Spanish.
“Yes,” I muttered. “It was very embarrassing. Can’t believe he didn’t have more common sense.”
Vicente grinned in my direction. “Embarazada means pregnant, but it’s a common mistake.”
Oh. Whoops.
Luz continued, “Are you going to just let abuela think that you’re going to have a child? She may be resigned to the fact that you’re never going to make it to the altar, but she’ll be crushed if you tell her she’s going to have a great-grandbaby, and it turns out it’s all a lie.”
He stopped cold, then offered a halfhearted shrug. “Didn’t think through that part. I guess we’ll just have to tell her it’s not my baby.”
“Vicente!” Luz and I cried in unison.
Wrinkling his nose, he admitted, “I suppose that won’t do, either.”
“I don’t want to explain anything to abuela about what’s going on,” said Luz, tucking a curl behind her ear. “You know how she worries. And if she has another heart attack because of the stress, I’ll never stop blaming myself.”
I raised my hands. “How about this . . . what if we tell your abuela that I’m a client of Vicente’s? Tell her that he brought me up here so I could hide out. A sort of . . . private witness-protection program, if you will. And that we’re telling people we’re engaged so that no one tries to follow me up from San Francisco.”
Luz rested her hand on the doorframe for a moment, then nodded as if satisfied. “It’s a good story. Abuela will be eager to take you under her wing. She has a soft spot for people in bad situations.”
I hoped we’d be able to keep this tangled web of stories straight, but what choice did we have? And all because Vicente hadn’t kept his mouth shut.
As if on cue, a crackly, feminine voice called from within the house, “Luz? Who’s at the door?”
Luz reached out and touched my arm. “Thank you so much for coming,” she whispered. “And for putting up with my insufferable cousin.” Then she turned and called, “Abuela! Vicente is here!”
With a sharp gasp, a gray-haired woman appeared in the doorway. She was no more than five feet tall, with a face rounded by age. Her eyes sparkled behind her glasses as she exclaimed, “Vicente! It is so good to see you! Come in! You must be hungry. I’ll make you a tortilla.”
A tortilla? By itself? I wondered.
Vicente kissed his grandmother as we stepped inside. “Abuela, that sounds wonderful.”
The old woman paused, her eyes landing on me for the first time. “And who is this lovely girl you’ve brought home?” she asked Vicente, her gaze darting toward my baby bump in hopeful expectation.
“Abuela, this is Kate,” he replied. “She’s a client of mine. I was worried she wasn’t safe in San Francisco, so Luz said I could bring her up here for a few days while things cool off.”
The woman gasped and reached out to grab my hands. “You poor thing. I’m Gloria, and we’ll take good care of you here. Come, sit down and make yourself at home. I bet you could use a tortilla too.”
The house was decorated in sumptuous colors, with paintings of the Spanish countryside gracing the walls. But Luz and Gloria led us through a pair of ornate doors into a simpler sitting area. On the far side of the room, I caught sight of a small kitchen.
Gloria gestured to a sectional couch. “Would you like anything to drink? Water? Wine?”
“Water for me,” I replied, gesturing down to my pregnant belly.
“I’ll take a red wine,” Vicente replied as he sank onto the couch. “Anything that’s already open.”
Gloria nodded and patted him on the shoulder. “It is so very good to see you, Vicente. I’m glad you thought to bring the poor girl here.”
Luz sat next to her cousin, and I chose a seat on the other side of the sectional, facing them. The soft couch cushioned my burdened joints, and I let out a little sigh of relief.
As soon as Gloria bustled off toward the kitchen, I gestured to Luz. “Thank you for the warm welcome. It’s beautiful here.”
“Wait until you see the rest of the winery,” exclaimed Vicente. “My cousin’s done an amazing job with the business.”
Luz offered a soft smile in return. “I’m trying to,” she said. “It’s my life’s work.” Then a serious expression overtook her face. “But it’s I who should be thanking you. Did Vicente explain the situation?”
I nodded somberly. “We talked about it in the car on the way up. But you seemed . . . startled when we arrived. Has something else happened?”
“Another note,” she whispered. “Let’s wait to discuss it. We can go to the wine-tasting cave after you’ve had something to eat, and we’ll be able to talk more freely there. I . . . I was unnerved about everything before. That’s why I called Vicente to come help. But after today . . . I’m genuinely afraid.”