The wine country looked very different on the day before Thanksgiving. The apple trees and vines were bare, and the ground was tinged with frost. There was a stark beauty to the landscape that was unlike the richness of the harvest season.
“Well, what’s the verdict? What do my very first paying guests think of the Vineyard View Bed & Breakfast? Are your rooms to your satisfaction?”
Harry Braithwaite couldn’t wait until they came down, but was yelling at them from the kitchen. He was still working on his first culinary masterpiece, a German chocolate cake made from scratch, and was afraid that if he left the kitchen while it was still in the oven, disaster would surely strike.
Annie came down the stairs of what had formerly been the Grubenmacher Mansion, with Jed Delacourt, Ellen O’Neill, and Joel Feinstein right behind her. She was still getting used to the idea of Jed and Ellen as a couple. Joel, on the other hand, was delighted, thinking that a little stability could only be good for Jed’s billing practices. “My room is delightful, Harry.” He had put her in the room at the top of the stairs, the room that had once been Florence Grubenmacher’s private sitting room. “I’m so glad you got rid of all that beige. The new decor is fabulous. It makes me think of a country house in Provence.”
“It is wonderful, isn’t it? Gerald North has really been a lot less moody since he gave up teaching, and went into interior decorating full time. I think he did a marvelous job with the whole place. He told me that before Florence decided to sell it and move to Scottsdale, every time he set foot in it he thought about how to redecorate it. Having it as his first major contract really gave his new business the boost that it needed.” Harry looked at Joel. “Where’s the baby? You didn’t leave her somewhere, did you?”
“No, Val is upstairs helping Maria change a diaper, as if a mother of three needs help. They’re fine.”
“Good, good. Annie, I’ve set out a plate of cookies. Will you do the honors and make the coffee?”
“Of course.” Her housewarming present to the B&B was a large-capacity European coffeemaker, a grinder, and five pounds of Starbucks beans. No bed-and-breakfast could ever have survived on Harry’s percolated coffee. As she made the first pot, she walked him through the process.
“I’m so glad you decided to have your first firm retreat here. It gives me a chance for a shakedown cruise of sorts, and frankly”—he looked at Jed and Annie—“you two need the rest and relaxation after what you went through.” Harry’s timer dinged, and he gingerly opened the oven door. “What do I do now?” he asked in a whisper. Ellen showed him how to test the cake with a toothpick to see if it was done. After he’d removed the pans and set them out to cool, everyone moved into the living room, where Harry had intermingled his own antiques with those sold to him by Florence Grubenmacher.
“Do you miss your old house?” Annie asked.
“Oh, no. The place just wasn’t the same without Eleanor. Here, without all of those old memories haunting me, I’m feeling much more enthusiastic about things. I was actually able to clear out the clutter.”
Ellen said, “Annie told me how you tried to send yourself to prison.”
Harry grinned and shrugged. “I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But this is much more fun. I’ve got a number of guests booked for the winter, and everyone tells me the real crowds come in the spring and autumn. The cooking lessons are going well, and I get my daily exercise by hiking up to the Widow’s Perch. What more could a man want?”
The coffee was ready, and Harry did the honors. His doctor had given him a clean bill of health, and told him all he really needed was a little more exercise and fresh air. With the activity of getting the B&B up and running, his health was improving on a daily basis.
Maria and Val came down the stairs, the latter happily cuddling the baby. “How are the other children doing?” Harry asked.
“They’re upstairs, happily watching a video,” Maria replied. “That’s a great playroom you made up there.”
“I wanted to encourage families with children. I think it will be fun having the little monsters around.”
“Have you heard from Taylor, Harry?” Joel asked.
“Yes, we talk almost every day. She’s miserable, as I knew she would be. I still think I would have rather enjoyed the people I would have met in prison, but she sees it only as a loss of freedom. I keep reminding her that her lawyer predicted she’d be out in twelve or thirteen years, if she behaves herself. That’s not such a long time. She’s pleased to have Galen Rockwell running the winery. And he’s happy, because Edna Hinkel is loaning him the money to buy out Gerald’s half-interest in North Faire. For a reasonable sum, this time.”
“I’m surprised Taylor didn’t try to use the insanity defense,” said Maria. “From what that psychologist told you, she certainly didn’t sound normal.”
“She may not have been healthy, but Taylor was sane, all right. She clearly knew right from wrong, and that’s what counts in criminal cases,” Annie said. “When she shot Marchand, she knew exactly what she was doing. This time, when Detective Shibilsky rushed in, she really was holding a smoking gun.”
“How did Shibilsky…”
Annie looked at Jed, who said, “When I heard on the news that the woman I’d met in Steve’s office had nearly been killed, I got out of there in a hurry and called nine-one-one on my handy-dandy portable telephone. Annie, if you had one of these, it might have saved you a lot of grief.”
“You can be insufferable, you know that?”
“Uh-huh.” Jed smirked.
“I still can’t believe that Taylor was just playing a role, pretending that her husband was abusing her,” Ellen said, incredulous. “That’s so… sick.”
“The state’s psychiatrist who examined Taylor confirmed what Dr. Montgomery believed. Being a ‘victim’ was just one of the roles she needed to play to get attention and affirmation. Her entire life was structured around Steven Vick. She had affairs to make him angry. She tried to get attention by making people believe he abused her. And then when he was utterly furious with her, she’d become seductive to win him back.”
Annie got up to refill her coffee. Harry beamed at her. “This really is good. Why didn’t I get a coffeepot like this before?”
Joel was still trying to comprehend the strange sequence of events. “So, it was Charles Marchand who planned Steve’s death?”
“Right,” said Annie, “because Steve discovered and was going to expose his plan. Steve suspected Taylor of trying to hide assets from him, so he broke into the winery one day to search for hidden accounts. He knew, like everyone else, that Taylor hated using the roll top desk for her regular business. He pictured the locked drawer as a good hiding place. Apparently, so did Dr. Marchand.
“Charles Marchand cared about only one thing. Money. He was basically a high-stakes gambler who gambled by investing in small businesses. Over time, he had sunk a fortune into small California wineries, and was feeling helpless as he watched one after another of them succumbing to financial difficulties, due primarily to the phylloxera infestation. And as the small California wineries suffered, the Northwest wine-growing region continued to prosper. He saw Washington wines winning acclaim in Europe and on the east coast, at a time when his businesses needed to replant and take a few years to develop mature vines. Rather than see all of his investments go down the drain, he decided to do something about it. He figured a product-tampering scheme could work provided he distanced himself from the key activities—such as acquiring the DDT. He used Martin Grubenmacher as his toady, intending all along that when he had served his purpose, Martin would ‘have an accident.’ ”
“Martin sounded like such a strange little man,” said Jed. “How did he and the doctor get together?”
“When Marchand met Martin, as the Wine Gala was being planned, he pegged him as someone who would be easy to manipulate. Although the family was rich, Florence kept little Martin on a pretty tight leash, so that he was constantly in need of cash. Taylor also told Marchand about Martin’s crush on her—it had been going on since they were in grade school together—and Marchand actually led Martin to believe that Taylor would be pleased by Martin’s actions, and reward him in some way. That, plus some spending money, was all the incentive Martin needed.”
“So Taylor knew nothing about Marchand’s plan?”
“No. She never would have gone along with any scheme that would have destroyed her winery. She loved it too much. And when she found out that Marchand had arranged Steve’s death, she flew into a rage. He was the only thing she truly couldn’t live without. Her entire affair with Marchand had just been a way to torture Steve.”
“How did Marchand find out that Steve knew?”
“Taylor called Marchand after Steve came to her house on Monday. She was playing her victim role again, telling Marchand how scared she was of Steve’s threats. Marchand put it together that Steve knew about the plan, and decided to kill him.”
“So there’s still one big question. Who swung the wine bottle?” Jed asked. “It couldn’t have been Marchand. Annie saw him inside talking to Celia Vick at the time the murder occurred.”
“Well, it had to be Taylor, didn’t it?” said Ellen. “Her fingerprints were on the bottle.”
Annie shrugged. “I don’t think so. When I finally saw the lab report, I noticed something that Detective Shibilsky hadn’t bothered to tell me. Taylor’s fingerprints were on the bottle, all right, but they were right side up. In other words, the way they would be if someone picked up a bottle by its neck to carry or pour it. If Taylor had used the bottle as a weapon, the thumb print should have been upside down. For whatever reason, the fingerprints of whoever used the bottle to kill Steve aren’t on it. I guess it’s something we may never know.”
Jed looked troubled. “I know it doesn’t make any real difference, since Marchand and Martin Grubenmacher are dead. But still, it would be terrible not to know, after everything we’ve been through.”
Annie noticed Harry nervously nibbling a cookie, looking distressed. “What is it, Harry? What’s wrong?”
“No, no, it’s nothing.” He picked up his coffee, spilling some on the front of his shirt without noticing.
“No, what is it?”
He set down his cup. “I know after my little scene at the sheriff’s department that I have not earned a great reputation for veracity.”
“But we understand why you did what you did, Harry. You loved Taylor. You wanted to protect her.”
He brushed crumbs off his wool pants, hemming and hawing a bit. “Well, you know the second tale I told you? About the mysterious figure in black?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I fully understand why you chose not to believe me, but every word that I said was true. It was someone besides Taylor who wielded that bottle.”
Jed wrinkled his brow. “But even if we believe you, that doesn’t answer the question. Who was the figure in black? It was too dark that night for you to see a face.”
Harry fidgeted. “That’s true.” He rubbed his chin. “Since we all know that Marchand was the mastermind behind this episode… and that he’s dead… and if I assure you that appropriate steps have been taken… is there any reason for what I’m about to say to leave this room?”
The others exchanged glances. Annie, for one, had no desire to share information with Detective Shibilsky. “I guess not,” she replied.
“What I said was the truth; I could not see the person’s face. But what I didn’t say was this: I didn’t have to. I could still tell who it was.”
“How?”
“By her walk. The figure in black was my granddaughter, Mimi. My suspicions were confirmed when she showed up the next day with all that cash and told me she was leaving on the next Greyhound for L.A. to be with her boyfriend. I knew there was a good chance she’d use the money for drugs, so I alerted the authorities and had her picked up when the bus reached Portland. It turned out that she’d been paid substantially more than the one thousand dollars she showed me and had spent almost all of it on drugs to take to her boyfriend in California.”
“What’s going to happen to her?” Annie asked quietly.
“Because she was transporting the drugs across state lines, she could be charged with a Federal crime. I met with her and explained what I had seen, and convinced her to plead guilty. She’ll be sent to a boot camp in California for youthful violent offenders—if that kind of discipline can’t straighten her out, then nothing will.” He looked around the room. “But promise me you’ll say nothing. If no one in Harmony knows about this, then perhaps someday she can come back here and stay with me.”
Everyone in the room was silent for a moment. Finally, Harry said, “I believed Taylor because I wanted to, you see? My family has been such a disappointment to me over the years, I wanted a perfect daughter. She had so much vitality, so much life. She was family to me. Maybe… I don’t know. Maybe I still have a chance to have that with Mimi.”