Oak Knoll, Napa County, California
September 2022
YOUNGER BROTHERS WINERY IS located in Napa’s Oak Knoll district at the southern end of the valley, an area known for its ideal growing conditions, where the temperature is regulated by the breezes from the bay. It’s noticeably cooler here than it was when I left St. Helena. This is part of the beauty of Napa: the pockets of space that look so similar in photos but feel so different in person. Here, the growing season is longer and more leisurely.
I formulated my plan on the drive here, what I’ll say if I end up seeing Rodney Young. I don’t know whether he was the anonymous commenter, but in case he is, I can’t reveal that I’m Josh’s widow, or else he might ask me to leave. He needs to think I’m on his side and that I have no personal connection to Josh. Michelle and I would have been the same age, had she lived, and I doubt Rodney remembers every high school friend she had over the years. I’ll pretend to be one of them, dropping by to pay my respects.
But as much as it makes sense in my head, my heart is hammering when I walk into the tasting room, which is small and dark, a musty heaviness in the air. I’m greeted by a woman around the same age as me, her dark hair pulled into a ponytail.
“How can I help you?” she says. She looks eager to have a customer: I’m the only person in here.
“I’m actually looking for someone,” I say, trying to arrange my face into a casual expression. “Rodney Young? I used to know his daughter.”
The woman’s smile falls slightly. “Rodney’s usually at the house. He’s probably over there now… Is he expecting you?”
“Not exactly,” I say. “But I was in the area and just wanted to say hi.”
She shrugs, and for a panicked moment, I’m afraid she’s going to tell me I should leave. Luckily, her attention is diverted by an older couple who walk in behind me, allowing me to slip out without further questions.
As soon as I leave the tasting room, I realize I have no idea where the house she mentioned is. But as I squint into the weakening sun, I see a small house at the southwest corner of the property, not big and beautiful like Sadie’s, but older and run-down. The brickwork appears to be crumbling, parched ivy creeping up the sides.
I head toward it without allowing myself to consider how irresponsible this is. The only thing I know about Rodney Young is that he might have had a vendetta against the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with.
I knock at the door, tension gathering in my chest. It takes all my concentration to breathe normally. Nobody answers. Rodney isn’t here, and I can’t just lurk around, waiting for him to return.
But just as I turn to leave, the door opens, and Rodney Young stands before me. His forehead is creased with frown lines, his mouth is pulled into a scowl, and his bushy silver eyebrows are pointed downward, like he has spent most of his life in a perpetual grimace. But he’s definitely the man from the website, minus the smile and affable grandfatherly demeanor.
“Yes?” he says, his voice sharp. “Can I help you?”
I speak quickly, hoping my excuse sounds less flimsy than it does in my head. “Mr. Young? I’m not sure you remember me, but I was a friend of Michelle’s at St. Helena High, and I was in the area and wanted to stop by… just to say hi. It’s been a really long time, but it would have felt strange leaving Napa without coming here.”
He studies me with small, dark eyes. He doesn’t believe me, I think, my fear spiking. It takes so long for him to speak that I wonder if I should just turn and leave.
“You look a bit familiar,” he finally says. “I guess it’s been so long.”
“Yeah,” I say, awkwardly stepping from foot to foot. “I’m sorry, if you’re busy, I can—”
“You can come in, if you want,” he says, cutting me off. “But you’ll have to excuse the mess. It’s just me here, and I don’t keep great care of the place.”
I nod, holding my breath in my chest, and follow him into the house. I pull out my phone and type a quick message to Kyle. I’m at Younger Brothers Winery, meeting with Michelle’s father. I’ll text you when I’m done here. I send the message, a last-minute contingency plan in case this goes awry.
I look up, taking in the framed pictures lining the walls of the hallway. They’re of Michelle and two other blonde girls who must be her sisters.
“Have a seat,” Rodney says, gesturing to a brown leather sofa. “I’m not used to having company anymore. My brother sold his share of the winery back in’08, and that’s the same year my wife left, so it’s just me here now.”
I feel like I should say I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what I’d be apologizing for. I sit down, and he takes a seat in an adjacent leather chair with overstuffed arms.
“Can I get you anything?” he says. “Coffee, tea?”
I shake my head. “No. I just wanted to come by—being here in Napa brought up memories of Michelle. I’ve thought about her a lot over the years.”
He nods, his mouth moving like he’s rolling marbles in his cheeks.
“You went to school with her?” he finally says.
“Yes. When she died—I’d never lost anyone close to me before.” I channel the way I felt after Josh died, the way it felt like I was drowning too.
There’s something manic in his eyes, a rage that belies his frail stature. He must be around the same age as my own parents, but he looks so much older, as if his loss had aged him.
“She didn’t just die,” he says, and my chest tightens. He must register my confused expression, because he continues to speak. “She was murdered. Everyone knows that.”
I think about the comment on the article. “Her boyfriend was always a bit suspicious to us. Josh.” I feel guilty even using his name in this context, but I need Rodney to reveal more.
Rodney takes the bait. “Yes. Thought he had us fooled, always showing up with flowers and gifts. I knew what he was doing.”
It sounds like my Josh he’s describing, who never showed up empty-handed. I wait for Rodney to share more, but he doesn’t. He taps his fingers on the arm of his chair. I need to work harder to get him to talk.
“He moved too fast,” I say, drawing upon the comments that the people in my life had made back when we were together. “He came on so strong. We tried talking to her about it, but she wouldn’t listen. She was in love.”
I can tell this strikes a nerve with Rodney. His chin juts into a sharp nod. “She wouldn’t listen to me either. Or any of us. She was skipping out on tennis to be with him—talking about going to college together. She changed when she met him.”
“She did,” I say. A silence falls between us. I don’t know how to keep the conversation going, or what else to say without seeming suspicious. “Do you think—do you think she wanted to break up with him, and he did something to her?”
“I know in my bones that he did it. Michelle told me she was staying at her mom’s house the night she died—and told Sylvie she was staying with me. I called around to her friends the next day when she never made it home, and found out about the party at the winery. The police interviewed a bunch of the kids who’d been there, and they all said the same thing. That Michelle and Josh had been fighting, and he was the last person to see her alive. Were you there that night?”
I cough into my hand and have trouble speaking for a moment. “Yes,” I say, venturing further out on my limb. “I was there. I saw that fight too.”
“I heard her on the phone with him once—she was begging him to listen to her. Whatever he was saying back, I’d never heard her so upset. Then later on, the phone rang, and I picked it up. He started talking before he knew it was me and not her. He said, ‘You only go to that camp because there’s a guy who wants to fuck you.’ I unloaded on him. Told him not to come near Michelle again. And he responded, so calmly, ‘We’ll see about that.’ ”
Even if I wanted to reply, I don’t have the words. It wasn’t true—Josh wasn’t like that. Not my Josh. But I feign understanding, forcing myself to nod along.
“Michelle was a happy person,” Rodney continues. “Until she met him. He didn’t listen when I told him not to see my daughter again. The night of that party, he snapped. My daughter didn’t drown in some freak accident. She was murdered.”
My skin breaks into a chill. The words he’s saying about Josh, my gentle, loving husband—I don’t want to hear them. I certainly don’t believe them.
When I speak, my voice shakes against my will. “I heard he died. Josh.”
This time, Rodney gives me his first smile since I arrived, an expression that looks foreign on his face. “I heard that too. A drowning. Proof that karma exists in the world. That’s the only reason I sleep at night, knowing he’s not out there anymore doing the same thing to someone else’s daughter.”
My throat is dry. Even though I want to find out who killed Josh, I’m not ready to be alone in a house with the man who might have done it—a man with the ultimate motive. “You think… he would have done it again.”
“I know it. People like that, they have a pattern. They don’t stop. The whole family is crazy, if you ask me. My ex—Michelle’s stepmother—she and I were friends with the Kellys. But Bev never even looked me in the eye after all that. I ran into her once, years later—some festival near Mill Valley. She acted like she had no idea who I was. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Now, it’s Bev’s voice I hear in my head, the conversation she and Josh had in the kitchen. And Bev, earlier today, saying that bad things sometimes happened with no explanation. Almost like she was trying to convince herself.
“I never stopped following Josh’s life,” Rodney continues. “I heard he got married, right before he died.”
“Oh?” I manage, shifting on the sofa. My palms are damp, and my chest is tight. I want to stand up and leave—to be anywhere but here. Rodney is looking at me differently, as though he sees right through me. He just admitted to following Josh. If he saw his social media, he would have seen my face. Did he follow Josh to the beach the day he died?
“The ocean wasn’t on his side,” Rodney says. “I guess the water knew the truth.”
I go to stand up, knowing I need to get out of here as quickly as possible. There are other things I could ask Rodney—details about the relationship between Josh and Michelle, maybe—but right now, my fear outweighs my desire to know more. “I really should get going—I just wanted to pay my respects.”
Rodney doesn’t stand. He’s still, like he has retreated into some dark place and is now suspended there. I wipe my hands on my jeans and head for the front door.
“I know who you are,” he calls after me, sending a shivery blast down my spine.
I turn around when I’m at the door, even as my adrenaline urges me to get out, my heart throbbing hard enough to crack my rib cage. I ask the only question Rodney can answer honestly. “Were you the one who killed him?”
“No,” he growls. “I would have loved to. But someone must have beat me to it.” He turns to face me, still seated in his chair. “Count yourself lucky. He would have destroyed you the same way he did Michelle.”
There’s nothing else for Rodney and me to say to each other. With those parting words, I bolt out the door. I break into a run when I’m outside, unable to get a deep breath of air. When I’m back at the rental car, I pull my phone out of my purse to text Kyle and let him know I’m okay, even though I don’t feel okay at all. There’s a missed call from him, and a text from half an hour ago.
I know I said I’d give you space, but I’m really worried, June. I’m en route to JFK right now. I’ll be in Napa tonight.
I love you, I write back with a gush of relief. His text doesn’t sound angry, and he’s getting on a plane, for me. Because he loves and trusts me.
As I nose out of the parking lot and head toward the airport to wait for Kyle, I weigh my options. I’ve come this far, and now I’ve dragged my fiancé into this mess. In a way, I have nothing left to lose. I could try to go back to Bev’s house and confront her again, but what would I say? That I’ve been to see Rodney Young, and he thinks Josh was a murderer? That I know she’s hiding something for one of her sons? If she’s been covering something up for decades, she isn’t going to let her guard down now, just because I’m asking nicely.
And as much as I try to tamp down my unease, there are the things Rodney said about Josh. He sounded so certain when he spoke about Josh’s character—but it was like he was talking about a completely different person from the man I married. Over the past handful of hours, I’ve found out that Josh lied to me—about his brother, about his dead ex-girlfriend. Was he afraid I’d love him less if I knew his dysfunctional family history? Or did other people see something in Josh that I didn’t?
I blow out a breath. If Rodney didn’t kill Josh, somebody else did. Was it someone who was there the night of the party—someone else with ties to Michelle?
My mind circles around the other obvious suspect: Andrew. Rodney said the kids at the party saw Josh and Michelle together before she died, but what if it wasn’t Josh they saw at all? No matter what Rodney believes, Josh wasn’t capable of murder. But I know nothing about his identical twin brother.
Still—how can I get to Andrew if I can’t find him?
The answer comes to me in a flash. There’s one person I need to talk to—the same person I was too afraid to question before. Someone who has known Andrew for decades and might have been at the party when Michelle died. Andrew isn’t around to look me in the eye and tell me what happened between him and his brother, but someone else is.
His wife.