Sarah swiveled on her stool to put fragrance to face. She was shocked to see Maeve “Hunny” Friske standing in the middle of the room. Her sleek white dress, gold jewelry, and spike heels looked out of place against the popcorn machine, pool tables, and mismatched furniture. She glanced around the well-worn establishment and seemed satisfied that, except for Sarah, the place was empty.
“Mr. Sullivan,” she announced, adjusting the Birkin handbag hanging from a toned arm. “I was told I might find you here.”
“You were told correctly.” Zach dried his hands on a towel. “What can I do for you, Maeve?”
She marched forward, heels clicking on the ancient plank floor and stopped short of the stools. Sarah assumed Hunny Friske would refuse to sit on one of the tattered leather seats. No telling what stains would besmirch her spotless silk dress.
“I don’t know if you remember me from the charity auction last April.”
Apparently, she hadn’t registered that Zach had greeted her by her first name. Maybe she was delivering a well-rehearsed speech and was not tuned into her audience. That was Maeve Friske’s specialty.
“Oh, I remember you,” Zach replied. “Chairperson, right?”
“Yes.” Hunny looked down at Sarah without lowering her well-sculpted chin. “Ms. McKee.”
“Ms. Friske.” Sarah didn’t allow the slightest warmth to soften her tone. Hunny Friske had treated her and Kelley with utter disrespect during the investigation of her husband’s death. Sarah didn’t forget such treatment quickly. Forgiveness came at an even slower rate—if it ever arrived at all.
“Can I offer you a drink?” Zach asked, polishing a goblet with a clean, white cloth. He indicated for Maeve to take a seat, but she remained standing.
Sarah’s stain theory held.
“I’m actually here to make you an offer,” Hunny began, her voice as haughty as ever.
“Offer?” Surprised, Zach stopped polishing.
“You were the only person who was decent to me at the auction, when everything fell apart. I remember such things.”
“Would have done it for anyone.”
“Well,” she took a deep breath. “I would like to repay the kindness.”
Zach propped one hand on the counter. “What are you getting at?”
“I’ll be frank with you, Mr. Sullivan. My late husband was overextended financially, unbeknownst to me, I’ll have you know.”
Sarah nodded. Sheriff Bradley had told her about the catastrophic state of the Friske finances. At the time Bill Friske was murdered, he possessed no liquid assets whatsoever.
“He also did not do much with the properties that he bought up here. It was too difficult during the pandemic, with supply chain issues and everything. Plus, the labor force was simply not there.”
Not for you Friskes, Sarah wanted to inform her. Bill Friske had been an opportunistic pillager, and everyone knew it.
“How do I figure in all this?” Zach asked.
“I am in the process of settling William’s estate.”
“And?”
“I intend to sell Paradise Valley Winery.”
Sarah watched the color drain from Zach’s face. His one-time home, Paradise Valley, would go for millions to yet another stranger. Surely, he didn’t have enough funds to buy Hunny out.
“Except,” Hunny continued, her voice full of disdain, “due to my husband’s bad luck or bad timing—I’m not sure which—the property has lost quite a bit of value in the past few years.”
Due to his mismanagement, Sarah wanted to say. But she held her tongue. This wasn’t her battle to fight. It was Zach’s. She would guard his flank, though, with her teeth and fingernails if she had to.
“Meaning the place is worth less than you paid for it,” Zach observed.
“Yes.”
“So, you’ll be underwater when you sell.”
“Yes.” She frowned and blinked. “And to be perfectly frank, I don’t have the funds to cover the real estate fees and taxes when the winery sells. The taxes will kill me.”
“So, what’s the offer?”
Hunny took a deep breath and clutched both fists under her impressive breasts.
“I have been advised to set up a charity and donate the winery to it. That way, I won’t have to pay anything, and I’m done with it. At this point, it’s my only option.”
“I don’t understand how I figure into all of this,” Zach said.
“I will name you as the sole administrator of the charity. And you, Mr. Sullivan, can do what you will with the property.”
Sarah watched as Zach flushed. Color crawled back up his cheeks as his eyes glinted with distrust and his mind raced.
“You’re joking,” he blurted, his voice choked.
“No, Mr. Sullivan, I am not. There may be tax liability down the road, should you choose to sell the property, but by then, it should have increased enough in value to compensate you for your trouble.”
“I would never sell Paradise Valley.”
Sarah felt Zach’s vehemence burn all the way across the bar to the skin of her arms and chest.
“Then if you agree, I will have my lawyer draw up documents for you to sign.” She held out a ring-encrusted hand. “Do we have a deal?”
“Yes.” Zach came around the bar and shook her hand. “But nothing’s official until I have a chance to look into this.”
“Understood, Mr. Sullivan. You’ll want to make your own inquiries. Smart. Not like my husband, the idiot.” Then her cold gaze returned to Sarah. “And you, can you contact Mr. Xu for me?”
“Aye.”
Honey opened her purse and drew a business card from a jeweled case. “Tell Mr. Xu if he wants my husband’s wine collection as compensation for the counterfeit wine he was sold, he may contact me. But he will have to arrange for transport and deal with Mr. Sullivan. I am leaving Sonoma Valley soon.”
“I will let Arthur Chen know. He’s the broker for Xu.”
“Have him talk to Mr. Sullivan, whether he signs for Paradise Valley or not.” She glanced at Zach. “You can work something out via that wine warehouse you manage, right, Zachary?”
“Sure. Fine with me.”
“I’ll be in Europe.”
“Okay.” Sarah slipped the card in her pocket.
“Good day to you both. And I hope to never set foot in this horrible, boring little valley again.”
Hunny turned, as stiff as a soldier in a brand new uniform, and marched out the way she had come. The bell on the door capped her exit with a vigorous tinkle.
“Good day and good riddance to you too, hen,” Sarah called after her, sure that the woman was out of earshot.
Zach let out a puff of air. “Do you believe her?”
“Oddly enough, I think she’s on the up and up.”
“A charity?”
“Zach,” Sarah began, as the truth of what had just occurred poured over her, filling her with joy. “You’re going to get Paradise Valley back!”
“I don’t know what to say.” He sank to the stool beside her. “I have to sit down for a sec.”
Sarah grinned and patted him on his shoulder. “This calls for a celebration.” She jumped to the floor and hurried around the counter. Then she leaned forward, palms on the bar, just as Zach always did for his customers. “What’ll it be, Sullivan? Or should I surprise you?”
“Goldilocks?” He met her beaming smile and pushed a hand through his raven hair, still lost in amazement and deep in shock. “I couldn’t get any more surprised than I already am.”
* * *
An hour later, when enough customers drifted in to make it difficult to hold a conversation with Zach, Sarah decided to leave the Wolf House. She should use the time to get some steps in. She waved good-bye and headed toward the old grist mill on Sonoma Creek.
While she walked, she called Kelley to inform her of the latest development in the Landon Harris case, that Harris Winery had been sold.
To Sarah’s way of thinking, the sale was a rush job and highly suspicious. Kelley promised to look into the SecondCount Corporation before the inquest on Wednesday.
Sarah increased her pace, trying to outdistance the disquiet she felt about the Harris situation, and hoping for the best. The only thing that would ease her guilty conscience would be news that Landon had died of natural causes, and that he hadn’t suffered.
The inquest on Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough.