After Sarah bought bread and rolls for the week at the boulangerie, she strolled down the pedestrian alley to Murphy’s. Sarah found Zach sitting in the shade on the patio, an arm propped on the railing and a dark brew in front of him. At four in the afternoon, most of the weekend crowd had vacated the area, leaving only a few locals at the pub.
In the daylight, without the bridal parties and patio lights as a distraction, the alley seemed lonely. Even tawdry. A lady with two chihuahuas sat near the door, chatting with an elderly friend. Two couples laughed over their drinks while they shared Murphy’s famous fried pickles. A blue-bellied lizard skittered across the wall by the back door. But that was the extent of the crowd.
Sarah was glad for the lack of patrons. She and Zach would have plenty of space to talk without being overheard.
“Hi,” she said, pulling out a chair and dropping the bag of bread on the table.
“What’ll you have?” Zach rose. “I’ll get it for you.”
“In this heat? A Prosecco. Thanks.”
“You got it.”
She watched him duck into the old pub which curiously enough, looked like every other Irish pub in Ireland and the UK. It was dark and cool on the inside, fashioned of heavy beams and timbers and stucco walls. Football scarves and posters—European, not American—covered all four surfaces. No NASCAR races or golf tournaments were ever displayed on the televisions at Murphy’s. All they showed was European football.
“Footbah,” as her father used to say. He had been a rabid Glasgow Rangers fan and ardent supporter of Liverpool in the English Premier League. He’d taken her to a few games when she was a girl, but his passion for the sport hadn’t rubbed off on her.
Zach placed the fluted glass in front of her and sat down. “Thanks for meeting me,” he said. His voice was as gravelly as it had been in his truck the day before. “I couldn’t face going home just yet.”
“You work too hard,” she commented, picking up the glass.
“It’s not about work.”
“Personal, then.”
“Yeah.” He downed half the beer and let out a sigh. His troubled gaze landed on the chihuahuas near the door, one of which was urinating on a table leg. “Nice mutt,” he observed, forcing amusement into his voice. Sarah followed his glance and shook her head.
“I bet he does that in the house, too.”
“No doubt.”
She dragged her regard back to his face, worried about his state of mind, but not sure she should venture into that realm.
She considered Zach a friend, but they weren’t in the habit of sharing personal information or talking about relationship woes. They had always kept their conversations light—even professional—with an appreciation for the other person’s sense of humor and love of viniculture. She had rarely spoken to Zach alone like this.
“Is this about Courtney?” she ventured.
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t have any family you can talk to, do you?”
“Nope.” He held up his beer and grimaced. “I’m an only child.”
“What about your pals?”
“Can’t talk to ‘em. They think I should dump Courtney, and they never let me forget it.” He took a swig of beer and set down the glass. “Talking to them about her is like talking to a stone wall.”
Sarah nodded. “Loyalty is a thankless taskmaster sometimes.”
“Yeah.” He shot her a quick, appreciative glance. “Especially when I know it’s a disease with her. It’s not like she’s cheating on me. Or robbing banks.”
“But she must know how gambling triggers you. Not to mention jeopardizes your financial future.”
“She knows it. And she tries.” He stared down the alley, his dark blue eyes hard. “The woman can bring on the tears, too. Say all the right words. Make so many promises. And I want to believe her. I made a vow when I married her. In sickness or in health, that’s what I said.”
“And her tears get to you.”
“Straight to the heart, McKee.” He smiled sadly. He sighed and studied the frothy beer. “She’s like a little girl.” He shrugged one shoulder. “You just want to help her. Make it all better. But I’m not sure what to do anymore.” He squinted and took a sip.
Sarah wanted to touch him and let some of his angst drain into her. She could shoulder some of his load and would do it willingly. But she couldn’t touch him. He was far too vulnerable. So was she, for that matter. All she could do was nod and let him talk.
“This time it’s different,” he continued. “I don’t know why, but I’m losing steam. She’s different, too. Yesterday, all she wanted to do was pick a fight with me—which was strange.”
“In what way?”
“We never fight. I wish we would sometimes. At least it would be some kind of communication. Instead of all the silence.”
“Do you go to AA? You know, for spouses of those who suffer from addiction?”
“It’s Gam-Anon in this case. And yes. Sometimes. But my crazy work schedule gets in the way.”
Sarah sipped her Prosecco but didn’t even register the taste. “Do you think it might help if you spent more time with her? She must never see you.”
“It’s not all me, Sarah. She’s never home either. And when she is, she’s on her phone.”
“Maybe a marriage counselor?”
“We went to one a while back. It didn’t help.” He finished his beer and let out a wry chuckle. “I guess neither one of us wanted to try all that hard.”
“How many years have you been married?”
“Twenty-two. Each year longer than the last.” He looked across the table at her. “How long were you and Matteo married?”
“Twenty.” She studied his somber face, struggling for words to say to help him through this rough patch. “You know, maybe marriages run their course, Zach. I’m not advocating divorce for you and Courtney, but for me it felt right the moment I decided to split from Matteo. Really right. A relief, actually.” She smiled. “Maybe your old-school marriage vow needs a review of the death do us part section.”
“Like ‘until the unit runs out of gas’?” Zach suggested.
“Not all that catchy,” she smiled. “But aye.”
Zach raised both brows and contemplated the mosaic tile of the tabletop.
“People didn’t live that long in the old days,” Sarah went on. “A twenty-year marriage was easily doable for most people way back when. But these days, people live a lot longer. And they change. Relationships change.”
“Makes sense, McKee.”
“And life is too short to endure forever with someone you’ve outgrown.”
“Yeah. But enough of that.” He sat back in his chair. “I didn’t come here to complain about Courtney. I came here to tell you what I found out from my niñera Maria.”
“What did you find out?” Sarah asked. “Did she know any of the Diaz family?”
“No, but a friend from her church did. The friend said that the Diaz family has lived at the Alice Creek place since the 1800s.”
“So, someone on the property was probably meeting Landon up at the ghost winery.”
“Right. But get this. Emilio Diaz had a younger sister.”
“He did?”
Zach nodded. “Apparently, she was quite the beauty. And headstrong. Not exactly the usual proper Catholic type of girl. She and Emilio were always fighting. The friend said he became very strict with her after their father died. He didn’t want any men sniffing around her, even after her Quinceañera.”
“What’s that?”
“When a Mexican girl turns fifteen, her family throws a lavish party. Her Quinceañera. It’s kind of like the girl’s social debut. Maria’s friend said the party was the talk of the valley for quite some time. And that Emilio Diaz used it to prove how prosperous the family had become under his watch. But she was pretty sure he went into debt for that party. That it was all a big show.”
“Fur coat and no knickers, eh?” Sarah sat back.
Zach smiled at her Scottish saying.
“So,” Sarah mused. “He gives his sister a big send off and doesn’t allow her to date?”
“That’s what it sounded like. He was keeping her for better things, obviously. He probably planned to marry her off to someone with the social cachet he lacked. And money.”
“Why not Landon Harris then?”
“Are you serious?” Zach let out a snort. “The families have been rivals since the dawn of time.”
“The letter hinted at a feud. Do you know the particulars?”
Zach relaxed into his chair, obviously relieved to turn his attention to history instead of his marriage. “As far as I know, in the 1800s, the Diaz family worked an 8000 acre ranch up in Kenwood. When all the trouble started between the U.S. and Mexico, they were legally granted the land by the Emperor of Mexico, with paperwork to be drawn up and delivered as soon as possible. But the revolution messed up an already messed-up system. Documentation never arrived. So, the Diazes were forced out and the Harrises stepped in. That’s how the land grab worked after the revolution.”
“Nice.” She grimaced.
“No paperwork,” Zach shrugged. “No legal standing.” He waved a hand. “Adios.”
“I knew the families were rivals. But I didn’t know how deep it went.”
“It’s deep. But most of the Diaz males wanted to stay. They were proud, hardworking men who just wanted to farm and raise their families—even if it meant leasing back land they already owned. Otherwise, they would have lost everything: their homes, their stock, and all the land they had cleared with their bare hands. They had sweat equity in that land.”
“I can see why they didn’t want to leave.”
“Yeah. Their only choice was to bow down and be quiet.”
“But back to the sister. Where is she now?”
“Maria’s friend wasn’t sure. She remembers hearing that the sister went down to Mexico to tend to an ailing family member. But she doesn’t remember her coming back.” Zach leaned forward. “Here’s the best part, though. The sister’s name is Marvilla.”
A chill raced down Sarah’s spine. “Our possible ‘M’. She would be a little younger than Emilio. Maybe in her sixties.”
“Yep. And their homes were not all that far from each other.”
“Their father was under contract to sell grapes to Landon’s family, too.”
“Right. Lots of back and forth between the two families.”
“Up to a point,” Sarah countered. “I bet the Diaz family wasn’t invited to any of the Harris socials events.”
“Probably not.”
Sarah finished her Prosecco. “Good work, Zach. That helps so much. Now all I have to do is locate this sister. And make amends for Landon.”
“By going to Mexico?” He raised a brow.
“No, I’m going to have a chat with Emilio Diaz. Ask him where I can find her. Do you think he might still be living at the Alice Creek property?”
“Could be.”
“I might just run up there this afternoon.”
“Good luck with that. He’s a tightly wound guy, Sarah. Not sure how much you’ll get out of him.”
“It’s worth a try.”
“Speaking of tightly wound guys, did you ever talk to Jean-Paul Harris?”
“I went up to take him flowers, but he wouldn’t give me the time of day. So busy.”
“A real shocker.”
“Aye.” Sarah chuckled. “And after that run in at the Wolf House, I’m sure he won’t ever speak to me again.”
Before Sarah left Murphy’s, she got the name and number of the quizmaster as a backup plan. If she couldn’t get information about Marvilla from her brother, she would try to locate Landon’s old friend.
Zach walked her to her car which was parked at the plaza near the fountain. When Roger LaRue saw them, he gave a small wave and resumed a conversation with a shaggy companion.
Sarah got in her roadster, aware that her life was changing now that she was able to set her own schedule and forge new relationships without taking her former dramatic partner into consideration. She was free of his guilt trips and temper tantrums—well, almost free. He still thought he had a right to criticize her. But that didn’t mean she had to take him seriously or take his criticism to heart. How liberating.
A wave of appreciation coursed through Sarah. She hadn’t been truly independent since college and had lived the past twenty years unaware of the invisible chains binding her spirit. They hadn’t been shackles exactly. More like silk ties. But they had been there all the same.
Sarah said good-bye to Zach and promised to stop in at the Wolf House soon.
When Sarah pulled up in front of the modest Diaz home on Alice Creek, she spotted two men talking near an ATV in front of a barn. One was tall, gray-haired, and rail thin, dressed in jeans, white shirt, and red scarf. The other had sandy-colored hair and was just as thin but a foot shorter, attired in a suit. Whatever they were talking about caused the shorter man to chop the air with one hand. His back was rigid, and his body was stiff with anger.
“What was Jean-Paul Harris so upset about,” Sarah wondered.