“You had a phone call,” Marcus said when Cait returned to the house. He handed her a slip of paper.
She glanced at the note. “Dawson? I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“Parker-Dawson vineyard,” he said. He leaned against the kitchen counter. “They were here in April for the tea.”
Cait marveled at Marcus’s memory, but then he had grown up in Livermore and knew many of the residents. “Oh, the tea.” She had vivid memories of the guests who had attended the tea—city officials and winery owners curious to see who had inherited the Bening Estate—but she couldn’t put a face to every name. “I tried to memorize everyone’s names and their businesses but didn’t do too well.”
Marcus worked his cuticles. “It was a tough time for all of us.”
Yes, it was. She thought back to the tea six weeks ago. In a short speech to the guests, she’d admitted she knew a lot more about law enforcement than running a festival or growing grapes. She wanted her guests to know she was committed to carrying on with Tasha’s plans for the estate.
“I suppose I’ll have to continue the teas every year at the start of the festival.”
He straightened up. “Only if you want to keep your promise, but it’s up to you now.”
Marcus’s clipped tone didn’t escape her. He would always be sensitive to changes at the estate. Cait understood. He wanted to stay loyal to Tasha, not betray her wishes, even if it meant stepping on Cait’s toes occasionally. But she resented being on the defensive. “Let’s have breakfast tomorrow, eight o’clock. I’ll let the Harts know. We’re all on edge over the attempted break-in, the phone threats, and my apparent stalker. I’ll ask Ray Stoltz, too. I’m sure he’ll have ideas on the actors’ safety.”
“He always does.”
Someone knocked on the door. When Cait opened it, Fumié grinned. “Hi.”
“I thought you’d gone home.”
“Change of plans. Ilia and I went to the cave so he could take pictures of the Native American petroglyphs.”
Cait shivered at the thought of the cave on the back property and felt stirrings of claustrophobia. “Marcus is protective of the cave and the drawings on the walls.”
“They already asked me,” Marcus said. “I have no objection if it’s okay with you.”
Confused, she said, “I thought you and Fumié were concerned about the laws to protect national treasures.”
Fumié shook her head. “Photographing those lovely horses, dogs, and warriors won’t hurt them.”
“I’m not opposed to sharing what the Ohlone Indians created, as long as the cave doesn’t become a tourist attraction, but I thought that’s what you were concerned about, Marcus.”
He shrugged. “Not anymore.”
“I’ll let Ilia know.” Fumié reached into her pocket for her cell and followed Marcus into his office.
Cait looked at the note Marcus had given her and called the number. “Hi, this is Cait Pepper returning your call.”
“Cait. Trish Dawson. We met at your tea.”
“Oh, yes. I remember.”
“We’re having a party at our winery Sunday. I’d like to hire the young woman who sang at the tea. I know it’s the last minute, but the entertainment we had planned fell through.”
Cait walked over to the office. “You can ask Fumié yourself. She’s here.” Cait handed her cell to Fumié. “Her name is Trish. She wants you to sing at her party.”
Cait indicated for Marcus to follow her out of the office so Fumié could talk in private. “I saw a flyer about the rodeo coming to town. Will that be a problem for the festival?”
“Why would it? The rodeo doesn’t start until next week, but some of the riders come early.”
“You’re right, it’s not like we’re across the street from the rodeo grounds.”
“Why are you worried about the rodeo?” he asked.
“Because someone tried to run me down on the campus. Maybe it was someone from the rodeo.”
Marcus stared at her, his face paler than usual. “What was he driving?”
“A black pickup,” she said. “I didn’t get the plate.”
“Probably hundreds of those around. Did you have your gun with you?”
“No guns allowed on campus, Marcus.”
“It had to be your stalker, not some guy from the rodeo. You shouldn’t go to class until the jerk’s caught.”
Fumié returned Cait’s cell phone. “Trish asked me to sing and play the guitar at her party.”
Cait smiled. “Congratulations.”
“But I can’t, at least not now. I’m going to work in the gift shop. The more souvenirs we sell, the less we’ll have to move when the new shop is built.”
“Why not entertain our guests?” Marcus said.
“Good idea, Marcus.” Cait looked at Fumié “How about it?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Sure. I’d like that.”
“Then it’s settled. Can you come for breakfast tomorrow at eight?”
Cait remembered she’d left her gun on the kitchen counter when she knocked on the Harts’ door. Their RV took up a lot more space than RT’s twenty-four-foot Airstream trailer.
Jim opened the door. “Thought I heard someone knocking.” He helped her up. “Where’s your gun?”
She felt like a kid who’d forgotten to go to school. “In the kitchen.”
“Not going to do any good there if your stalker’s waiting behind some bush.”
“Leave her alone, Jim,” June said as she set a plate of chocolate chip cookies in front of Cait. “I’ll take some out to the actors later. So, you liked Chip?”
Cait bit into a cookie and then licked chocolate from her lips. “He’s polite and good-looking.”
“Tasha adored him and was excited when he accepted her invitation to be part of the festival.”
“I can see why.” Cait hesitated. “I have something to tell you. Someone tried to run me down on campus yesterday.”
June’s jaw dropped. “What?”
Jim frowned. “I don’t suppose you had your gun with you.”
Annoyance simmered just beneath the surface. Not at Jim, but at the situation. “No. Weapons aren’t allowed near a school. I’m not dropping the class. I’m not putting my life on hold because someone decides to come after me for doing my job. I’ll get to the bottom of this, but I’m not going to hide while I wait for the police to get him!”
June placed her hand on Cait’s arm. “We understand your frustration, but no one would blame you if you went into hiding for a while.”
“I never hide from a problem.”
June nodded. “Okay. What are you going to do? Maybe you could sit in the audience and observe.”
“I’ll be on the sidelines or the back of the theater so I can move about. I want to see Chip in his role of Hamlet on Saturday, and then I’ll catch Macbeth Sunday afternoon. I’ll spend as much time as I can at both plays.”
“Then I’ll see Macbeth on Saturday and Hamlet on Sunday,” June said. “I’ve been in both of them, and I’ll hang out backstage with the actors.” She grinned. “My voice carries. If there’s a problem, I’ll scream.”
Cait smiled. “That will work. I’m confident my stalker is Wally Dillon, but I’m not eliminating anyone yet. What concerns me is if he disguises himself as one of the actors. The theaters have to be unlocked. Anyone could walk in.” She bit into her cookie. “Marcus wants to help. He isn’t exactly Delta Force, and he can’t carry a weapon, but he could help guard the doors.”
June nodded. “What about Calder Manning? Could he be your stalker?”
“I looked him up on the Web. He went into the police station and asked about me. He’s a distinguished war correspondent and he has a young daughter. Why would he waste time on me? He could jeopardize his job. That leaves Wally.”
“You’re probably right, but take art theft, for example,” Jim said.
When Cait thought of art thieves, she thought of Pierce Brosnan or Sean Connery.
“Why would anyone steal a painting like a Vermeer?” Jim continued. “It couldn’t be sold, but it might be swapped for drugs.”
Cait thought about it. “Your point?”
Jim leaned on his elbows. “You’re not sure it’s Wally, but in all likelihood he’s involved. Maybe it’s not you he’s after. Is there anything of real value in the house that could be sold or traded for drugs, diamonds, or even artwork?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t torn through the walls to look, but I doubt it, Jim. He’s after me.”
“Just trying to cover all possibilities. At least think about it.”
“I will. Before I forget, you’re invited to breakfast. Eight o’clock.”
Marcus had left by the time Cait returned to the house. She picked up her gun from the kitchen counter and went upstairs for her shoulder bag and to call Shep.
“I was going to call you,” he said.
Cait stared out the window at the golden hills. “Sam called.”
“I know. She told me about the phony obituary. She’s worried about you and begged me to track down the guy who called it in. He might try other newspapers, but I don’t think he’d succeed, because most require confirmation of death. He’s jerking your strings, Cait, to frighten you.”
“He’s doing a damn good job of it.” She paced the bedroom, and then settled on the edge of the bed. “Did Sam tell you the call to the paper came from this area code?”
“I recognized it. If it is Wally, he’s got help. If it’s Calder Manning, he has the means to track you down. I hope you’re keeping your gun close.”
She slipped her hand in her shoulder bag and gripped the cold, hard Glock. “Of course.”
“Every time you go outside?”
“You know how awkward that is? I’m careful, okay?” She closed her eyes for a moment against her frustration. “I’m sorry, Shep.” She pulled a book out of her purse. “I’m taking a class at the local college.”
“Make it a day class.”
“I can’t. I have a festival to run, and if I’m going to grow grapes, I have to know how to operate a vineyard.” She smoothed her hand over the downy ivory and green duvet.
“You can’t take a gun to class.”
She sighed. “I know. I’m not dropping the class because of Wally Dillon or anyone else.” She paused. “There was an incident last night after class.”
“What happened?”
“Someone tried to run me down in the parking lot.”
“Jesus, Cait. Come home. You can get your job back.”
“That doesn’t sound like you, Shep. Neither one of us are quitters. Besides, if I did go back I’d be right where this mess started.”
“Just saying. I’ll look into Wally Dillon’s background and call you back.”
She stood and picked up her bag. “Thanks. I’m going to the store. The cupboards are bare.”
Cait checked the area before she got out of her car at Trader Joe’s. The lot was crowded for a Thursday evening and she had to park farther away than she would have liked. She locked the car and hurried inside. She grabbed a handbasket and bought what she needed for tomorrow’s breakfast, along with a couple of Lean Cuisine dinners and desserts.
She paid for her groceries and went outside, looking over her shoulder as she walked. Part way to her car, something made her hesitate. The skin on the back of her neck prickled, but no one was behind her—still, she sensed someone watching her. When she got closer to her car, she paused to reach into her shoulder bag as if looking for her keys. She gripped her gun, using the opportunity to glance surreptitiously at a man lighting his cigarette by the car next to hers; the rolling smoke dissipated as it rose through the early evening air.
The man looked up, made direct eye contact with her, and sauntered off. Instinctively she knew this was her stalker. But was it Wally Dillon? Average height, baseball cap, dark-skinned, wearing a black muscle T and black sweats.
She unlocked her car, got in, and released a long sigh. After another glance around the parking lot, she called Detective Rook.
He answered right away. “Detective Rook.”
“It’s Cait. Have you got a spare officer who wouldn’t mind spending a day in the warm sun tomorrow, maybe absorb a little Shakespeare?”
“I thought you’d never ask. What happened?”
She turned the key and started the engine. “I was followed to Trader Joe’s.”
“Describe him.”
“A black man like Hank Dillon, or he’s spent a lot of time in the sun. I don’t want to wait until Saturday for police protection at my house. I want it now.” When Rook didn’t respond, she continued. “One actor’s already arrived; the rest will come tomorrow to rehearse. The theaters will be open, giving anyone ample opportunity to walk in.”
“I’ll have someone there in the morning. I’d like an officer with you every time you stepped out of the house, but that’s not possible.”
“I don’t want someone with me twenty-four-seven. It would drive me nuts.”
That night, Cait fell into a sound sleep until the landline rang. It was after midnight according to the luminescent dial on the alarm clock. She grabbed the receiver.
“Hello?”
When no one spoke, she knew.
“I saw you.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “And one day I’ll get you.”