Luz and I spent forty minutes driving through the vineyard, calling for Vicente. But there was no sign of him.
“Where could he be?” she demanded, her voice cracking. She slammed her hand against the steering wheel and scrunched up her face, fighting off tears. “We’ve looked everywhere.”
“I don’t like it,” I said. “I don’t like it at all. But let’s remember that there are a lot of reasonable explanations. Sabotage is one thing, violence is another—it would be a huge escalation for someone to hurt or kidnap Vicente. We need to stay calm and keep our heads clear.”
But Luz wasn’t calm. Not even close. “Should we file a missing-person report?” Her breaths were coming fast and shallow. “Oh my gosh. What will I tell abuela if something’s happened to him?”
I swallowed back a wave of nausea. “There’s no point in filing a report yet. He’s an adult, and he hasn’t been missing twenty-four hours. That means police won’t take it seriously. They might let you file a report if you disclosed everything—the sabotage, the notes . . . all the reasons you’re concerned for his safety—but they’re still not going to start looking for him until tomorrow. Plus”—I hesitated—“police reports are generally something the public can request, and could be used in, say, a news story.”
She looked almost green as she pulled out her phone. “But surely we have to try.” Then she swore under her breath. “No cell service here. Let’s go back to the house. Maybe he’s come home. If not, we can call from there.”
She shoved her phone back in her pocket and hit the gas pedal, still breathing too quickly. I put my hand on her shoulder, hoping to calm her panic attack. The wheels of the golf cart churned on the gravel path, spitting pebbles out behind it. Then we were gliding forward, back toward the blessed air conditioning.
Please, let Vicente be there, safe and sound, I prayed.
When we arrived back at the house, Luz ran inside. I headed after her, but quickly despaired of keeping up. I was not in any kind of shape to run.
“Abuela!” she called as she opened the door.
I ambled inside, huffing and puffing and muttering, “I’m ready to not be pregnant anymore.”
Luz met me when I was halfway to the kitchen. “Abuela says he’s not home yet,” she whispered. “I acted unconcerned in front of her, but I’m really, really starting to freak out.”
The fear was apparent on Luz’s face, and I swallowed back my worry that she hadn’t acted nearly as unconcerned as she thought.
“I have an idea,” I said, trying to project calm control. “One that might help us find Vicente faster than the police will.”
“Shoot.”
“Let’s invite the suspects here. I’ll ask them questions, and we’ll see if we can narrow down the identity of our saboteur—and if we can glean anything that will help us figure out where your cousin is.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Is that safe? What if we corner the culprit, and . . .”
“Take deep breaths. Nothing about this situation is safe,” I replied evenly. “The best thing we can do is catch the saboteur as quickly as possible, before the situation escalates further.”
For a moment, she seemed to consider this. Then, her shoulders slumped, and she gave in. “Vicente said you’re the best PI he knows.”
My chest puffed up a little at the compliment. He said that? Really? He’d never deign to say such a thing to my face.
She continued. “I trust his judgment, and so I trust you. Let’s do it.”
“Then call Thomas and Bruce and ask if they can meet us here. Have Bruce bring his wife.”
Luz pulled out her phone and started making calls. I snatched my notepad from the living room and studied my scribbles, reminding myself of everything I knew about the case. I wanted to go into these interrogations as prepared as I possibly could be.
Seven minutes later, a knock sounded at the door. I tilted my head as Luz hurried to answer it.
That was fast. Town was ten minutes away—I’d mapped the distance earlier. Had the new arrival been on the road already—or had they been hanging out nearby? Doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but it’s potentially suspicious, I concluded. Something to follow up on.
“Thank you so much for coming,” said Luz.
“Well,” barked a shrill, headache-inducing voice. “I want to know why you dragged us all the way out here. To gloat about how you fired my husband, because you’re a smug traitor?”
“Now, Regina,” chided a man who could only be Bruce, Luz’s former manager. “That’s unkind.”
While Regina was openly aggressive, there was something in Bruce’s tone I didn’t like. He seemed . . . oily. Outwardly polite, but snakelike.
“Let’s talk more in the wine cave,” said Luz, glancing toward the hallway that led to the kitchen.
“Why?” spat Regina. She was a tall brunette with frown lines around her mouth and a stiff posture. Her husband, in contrast, was short for a man—they were almost exactly equal in height—with a more relaxed demeanor.
I stood and crossed the room toward them—they smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke, and my nose twitched. “I’m Kate Connolly, a private investigator looking into some odd happenings here at the vineyard. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Regina blinked several times at me. “You’re a PI? I thought Vicente had brought a fiancée to town.”
I stared her down coldly. “Rumors of our engagement have been greatly exaggerated.”
If Vicente weren’t missing, I’d have stuck with the cover story. But if the saboteur had abducted Vicente, there wasn’t time to be coy or indirect.
She crossed her arms. “So, what’s the problem?”
“Like Luz said, we’ll talk in the wine cave.” I glanced at Luz. “Has Thomas replied?”
Glancing at her phone, Luz said, “Yeah, he’s finishing up something at the store and will head this way soon.”
“Thomas?” asked Bruce. “Why’s he coming? What’s this about?”
I jerked my head toward the back door. “Let’s go.”
In strained silence, we made our way to the wine cave. When we went inside, Bruce let out a chuckle.
“Still feels like home,” he said, craning his neck to look around the room.
“Of course it does,” retorted his wife. “You gave the best years of your life to this place, before she threw you out like trash.”
Luz’s head jerked up. “Now, wait just a minute—”
“Stop!” I held up a hand. “No bickering, please.”
But Regina leaned against the bar and snapped, “Bruce saved Castillo’s. Don’t you get that?” She jabbed a finger in Luz’s direction. “Because he’s able to think outside the box and problem-solve creatively, and you’re not.” For the first time, I noticed her nails—painted an obnoxious neon green. My friend Paula could pull that shade off, but on Regina, the incandescent polish looked out of place.
I sat down on a wine-barrel chair and offered Regina an easy smile. “So, it made you angry when Luz fired Bruce?”
“Of course it did!” She scowled at me.
“Angry enough to take revenge?” I asked evenly, pressing my fingertips together.
She fell silent, her brow furrowing.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Bruce.
“It’s just a question.”
“What kind of revenge are you talking about?” Concern lines creased Bruce’s forehead. “What’s going on?”
For now, I’d keep my cards hidden, in hopes that they’d slip up and reveal that they knew something. “We were hoping you might be able to tell us.”
“I need a drink,” he muttered, crossing around the bar to the line of wine bottles. He popped a cork and poured himself a full glass of red.
It’s like he thinks he’s still the manager here.
For a second, Luz seemed startled by his sense of entitlement, too. We made eye contact, and she shrugged.
So he’s entitled. Lots of people are entitled, of course, but it’s not a mark in his favor.
He took a sip of the wine, closed his eyes, and let out a satisfied sigh. “That’s better. Now, what on earth is going on?”
“Vicente’s missing.” The words exploded out of Luz’s mouth. She hesitated, as if wondering if she’d said too much.
Bruce almost dropped the wine glass, his eyes widening. “What do you mean, missing? Like, from here? Or is he in San Francisco still?”
I intervened. “Have either of you sent any threatening notes to Luz?”
Bruce shook his head adamantly, then glanced at his wife in silent question. “Hon, you haven’t threatened Luz, have you?”
She gasped and wheeled on him. “What are you accusing me of, Bruce? How dare you!”
He took another sip of wine and muttered, “You have no qualms about accusing me of having an affair, so maybe we’re even now.”
I jotted down a few notes about their argument. Quick to accuse each other. Maybe a rocky marriage. B seems to think R capable of threatening notes.
“Hmmph!” She stared him down imperiously. “Well, in answer to your deeply hurtful question, no, I have not threatened your traitorous ex-boss in any way. I don’t know anything about any notes, threatening or otherwise, or about where her stupid brother is.”
“Cousin,” said Luz through gritted teeth.
Bruce’s cheek twitched, and he turned to Luz. “Things ended badly with my job here, but . . . this sounds serious. Can you start from the beginning? Maybe I can help.”
The door to the wine cave swung open on creaking hinges.