“Listen, I’m pulling into the parking lot now, J.T. I’ll have to get back to you later.” Justin turned off the main road and drove down a long asphalt-paved driveway. He’d been on this call with the ridiculously rich oil tycoon for the past hour. J.T. was trying to push Justin into running for lieutenant governor and was more persistent than poison ivy.
It wasn’t that Justin objected to the idea. Politics might be the ultimate end game, but first he wanted to get a solid career in law enforcement under his belt. Besides, he loved being a Texas Ranger and wasn’t quite ready to be taken out of the action just yet.
“You know you’re the ideal candidate,” J.T.’s voice continued through the phone persuasively. “Harvard summa cum laude…top of your class at UT Law School…a very successful Texas Ranger…”
Justin was doubtful. “Maybe…but what about Grammy?” His very unconventional grandmother, who had toured with most of the famous rock bands in the sixties and seventies, could be found almost every evening sitting on her front porch with a cloud of pot smoke hanging in the air.
“What about Grammy?” J.T. repeated. “Everyone knows she’s a harmless old hippie who likes her weed.”
“Which, may I remind you, is still illegal in Texas.”
J.T. chuckled. “Shit, no one cares about a little pot anymore. Look at Willie Nelson. He’s practically our state mascot.”
Justin slowed as he looked for a parking space. Cars were parked on both sides of the driveway, leaving barely enough room for his big SUV to get through. What the hell was going on? As he got closer, he saw hanging from the front of a large native-stone building a wide canvas banner that proclaimed, CRYSTAL SPRINGS CELLARS HARVEST FESTIVAL. Well, shit, could he have picked a worse day for this? Justin finally saw an empty space and pulled into it. “What if you’re wrong?” he asked, continuing the conversation on speakerphone as he parked. “I just don’t think it would play well in the press…‘Politician’s Pothead Granny.’ ”
“We can handle the press,” J.T. promised.
Justin snorted. “With drones, Twitter, and Facebook, no one can handle the press. Besides, what about Nick and Luke? I’m not going to jeopardize their jobs.”
“Well, think it over. We’ll talk more later.”
“Not a priority right now.” Justin shifted the SUV into park but didn’t turn off the engine, which would have shut down the air conditioner. The last thing he wanted to do was boil in a vehicle while trying to end the conversation without seeming rude. “Look, I’ve really got to go. It’s hotter than hell out here, and my carbon footprint is growing.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m on a case, and you know I can’t discuss it. Take care, J.T., and give Dolores my best.” He ended the phone call on what he hoped was an up note, turned off the engine, and opened the door of the white state-provided Ford Explorer he called “Silver” in homage to the most famous Ranger of all time. Personally, he thought riding a horse would be cooler, but with the miles he had to cover servicing the Austin/San Antonio/Waco area, the Explorer was much more practical.
It was a typical hell-hot August afternoon, with the temperature hovering around the hundred-degree mark. As soon as he opened the car door, the heat swept over him like a flash furnace. He picked up his white Stetson off the seat and stepped outside. Justin settled the hat on his head and adjusted his holster. He was wearing the usual but unofficial uniform of long-sleeved white shirt, khaki pants, dark tie, and cowboy boots.
Almost immediately, sweat trickled down the middle of his back as he followed the road to the vineyard. Even the slight breeze didn’t help, but it brought with it the lively sound of music and the buzz of the crowd. He glanced down as his foot caught a stubborn rock in the parking lot. The dry Texas dirt dulled the shiny black boot he had polished the night before. “Shit.” He was proud of what his uniform stood for and hated for it to be anything but perfect.
With about fifty yards to go, he tried to focus on his duties this afternoon. Today was officially a courtesy visit to inform the widow of the death of her husband. But since this was a murder investigation, this was also a chance to get a feel for the case. There were a lot of unanswered questions…and he suspected Mrs. Roberts had some interesting answers. Maybe not today, but he had to start somewhere.
He would have to go easy. Everyone dealt with grief differently. Even though her husband had been missing for eight years, confirming his death could be unsettling…if she hadn’t been an accomplice.
He’d researched the vineyard and its history, so he knew that Mark Roberts’s grandparents, Giovanni and Anna Moreno, had brought the original grape stock over from Italy. The vineyard had passed to their daughter, Anna, who had married a Scotsman named John Roberts. Mark, their only child, had inherited it about ten years ago, and from all reports, had been on the verge of losing it when he disappeared.
Somehow the vineyard had survived and was doing very well…which didn’t add up. And then there were the stories about the trophy wife he had met in a bar in Austin and married after knowing her for only forty-eight hours. Justin had seen her photos, and she was definitely a knockout. It was easy to see why some horny millionaire would fall for her.
But was she also a black widow?
Justin finally reached the building and passed through the arched stone opening into the cool interior. The front room was a gift shop with all sorts of wine-related items, as well as a wall of racks holding bottles of the Crystal Springs Cellars’ wine. He glanced around but didn’t see Mrs. Roberts, so he continued through to the large wine-tasting room. There was a carved-oak circular bar in the middle of the room with barstools surrounding it. Off to the right side was a comfortable-looking lounge with plump leather furniture and a gigantic stone fireplace. And to the left he could see a dining area.
Dozens of people wandered around, tasting, shopping, lounging, eating…and everyone seemed to be having a wonderful time. The whole place had that warm, comfortable feeling of a country home.
There was still no sign of the widow Roberts, so Justin walked out the open double doors leading to the backyard. The crowds were even larger outside. Many people were sitting on lawn chairs or blankets on the ground, listening to live music from a popular local band. Kids were running and playing on the lush green lawn under sprawling oak trees. A row of vendors were on the outer edge, selling everything from homemade soap to jewelry to paintings of the Hill Country next to booths with all types of food and baked goods. There was even a large vat where the more adventurous visitors were taking turns stomping grapes.
“They’ll have purple legs for a couple of days,” a feminine voice said next to him. He turned to see who was talking, and all coherent thoughts fled his mind.
There was no doubt this was the widow Roberts. She was even more stunning than in her photos. Long golden-blond hair floated around her shoulders in loose curls. Her eyes were large, wide set, and the color of the Texas sky on a clear summer day. Luscious lips outlined a dazzling smile of perfect white teeth. She was tall for a woman, only a few inches shorter than his six-foot-two frame, so they were almost eye to eye. Although he didn’t let his gaze wander lower, he could see the promise of killer curves under the low-cut peasant blouse and long, flowery skirt.
“Uh…,” he said, then gave himself a mental shake. He was a seasoned veteran who never lost his cool, no matter what was happening. This was ridiculous. She was just a pretty—make that gorgeous—woman…who may or may not have murdered her husband. “Good turnout.”
“It’s our third festival, and it’s grown every year.” She turned the full wattage of her attention on him and asked casually, “Are we making too much noise? Or are you checking our age compliance? I can assure you, we’re checking IDs.”
“No, ma’am. I have another matter to discuss when you…when you’re available.”
She glanced around. “This will wrap up around five. Can it wait until then?”
“Sure, no problem.” It had waited for eight years. A few more hours wouldn’t hurt.
“Make yourself at home. Check out the wine tastings…but then, I guess you can’t since you’re on duty.”
“I’ll stick to the lemonade,” he said, nodding toward the booth that advertised fresh-squeezed juice.
A flustered young Hispanic woman rushed toward them. “Miss Lori, we have a problem in the kitchen. Chef Gino slipped on a spill and thinks he broke his leg.”
Without another word, the blond beauty hurried away with the young woman toward the kitchen.
It was cooler under the shade of the trees, and Justin wandered around, sampling the food and enjoying a truly delicious glass of lemonade. He joined a tour through the winery building where the harvested grapes were being processed and through the keg room where the barrels were stored.
Justin wasn’t much of a wine drinker himself. Give him a cold beer any day over a glass of wine. But as he walked through the various areas and listened to the tour guide’s spiel, he began to appreciate the complexity and art of crafting wine.
No one stopped him, so he drifted away from the crowd at the end of the tour and strolled around the buildings. A couple small houses, probably occupied by employees, were behind the winery building. From the grassy area where the festival was being held all the way to the back of the property were dozens of rows of grapevines following the gentle hills that were common in this part of Texas. In fact, the area west of Austin was known by the name Hill Country because of its undulating landscape.
Off to the left of the main building was a two-story stone house with a metal roof and a wide porch. He assumed this was the Roberts residence, although he wasn’t sure if she lived out here or had a place in town. Beyond the house was an orchard of round, dusty gray trees loaded with oval green fruit he recognized as olives.
By the time he returned to the festival area, the crowd had begun to dissipate. The vendors were packing the remaining merchandise and dismantling the booths. Most were local artists or bakers who traveled around the state, displaying their wares at fairs or festivals, so the setup and teardown were smooth operations. The band was also packing up and loading their instruments into the back of a van they had backed up to the wooden stage.
Justin sat on a glider that was deep in the shade and watched the orderly winding down of the festival. Several of the vineyard workers were emptying and hosing out the grape tub. Obviously, it had been for show and to give the visitors a memorable experience rather than to actually harvest the juice. But given the volume of products that were being sold in the gift shop, the financial loss of a few dirty grapes wouldn’t be missed.
Surrounded by all the lush greenery, there was peacefulness in spite of the activity going on around him. A tiered stone fountain splashed nearby, its trickling water blocking most of the peripheral sounds. Justin found himself relaxing more than he had in months. His job kept him hopping, so he rarely sat around and did nothing. His only respite was the family dinners at his grandmother’s place almost every Sunday. But since both of his brothers were also in law enforcement, the conversation was usually centered around active or solved cases, so none of them were ever really off the clock, even though Grammy strongly discouraged shoptalk.
He felt someone plop down on the glider next to him, and he realized he had closed his eyes and maybe even dozed off for a minute. He didn’t even have to look to know Mrs. Roberts had joined him. She smelled like lemons and flowers, a scent he had noticed earlier.
“I see you’ve gotten caught up in the magic of this place,” she said, her voice tired. “No matter how hard I’ve worked during the day, I can come out here and sit for a while, and everything seems better.”
He turned to her with a smile. He hadn’t expected her to be so…human. If she was a femme fatale or a killer, she was hiding it well. “Hello, ma’am, I’m Justin Archer.” He tipped the brim of his hat. “I apologize for not introducing myself earlier.”
“Things were pretty hectic, Ranger Archer. I’m Lori Roberts.” She smiled broadly as her eyes fixed on his. She reached around to shake his hand. “But then, I guess you already knew that.”
“Pleasure.” Justin shook her hand. What a dumb-ass thing to say…“pleasure”? “Did you take care of your emergency in the kitchen?”
She leaned back and exhaled. “I lost my chef for at least a couple weeks. It wasn’t a break, just a nasty sprain. But I know those can sometimes be worse. We were able to finish off the day with the assistant chef, but I’ll have to hire someone temporarily. We have the annual Wine Guild dinner in two weeks, and then the olive harvest events the week after that.” She shook her head and sighed.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your festival, but I have some bad news.” Justin didn’t want to break the mood, but he needed to get to the point of his visit. “Is there somewhere more private?”
She lifted her head and looked at him. For the first time, worry flickered across her eyes. “Of course.” She stood and had started to lead the way to the winery building when a young girl ran up and threw her arms around Lori’s waist.
“Mommy, I had so much fun today.”
Lori automatically adjusted the barrette that was holding the girl’s long blond hair in a messy ponytail. “I’m so glad.” She glanced back at Justin. “Sweetie, could you go help Raquel in the dining room? I need to talk to this nice man for a minute.”
The girl focused her attention on Justin, checking him out with perceptive eyes. Apparently impressed by his shiny badge, she smiled. “Are you a policeman?”
“I used to be, but now I’m a Texas Ranger,” he explained, smiling down at the curious child, who looked like a mini-me version of her mother.
“Do you ride a horse?”
“Yes, but not usually on the job.”
“I love horses.” She heaved a long sigh. “We used to have horses…but I was too young to remember.”
Justin wasn’t sure what to say. He could stare down killers, but he had no idea how to talk to a kid. He cleared his throat nervously.
The girl studied him solemnly. “Are you here to arrest someone?”
“No, I’m just here to talk to your mother…” He hesitated when the girl frowned, still concerned about his surprise appearance.
“…and to go to the festival,” Justin hurried to add, hoping to take away her doubt. “It was very nice.”
It worked. The girl’s frown relaxed, replaced by a sunny smile. “Yes, it was. I helped. My name is Mackenzie. What’s yours?”
Justin held out his hand. “Justin Archer. Nice to meet you, Mackenzie.”
She shook his hand, then released it.
“We’ll have dinner after everyone leaves,” Lori told her with a gentle shove toward the main building.
“Okay.” With a flip of her ponytail, Mackenzie galloped away.
“She thinks she’s a horse,” Lori told him. “I went through that phase when I was a kid. But we lived in the city, so I had to get my horse fix at the rodeo every year.” She watched until her daughter disappeared inside before she turned back to Justin. “Follow me.” She led the way back to the winery building and through the arched double-wide oak doors.
Justin had to walk fast to keep up with her and then paused just inside the door as his eyes adjusted from the bright sunshine to the cool darkness. The fragrance of fresh grapes mixed with oak filled the air. All of the workers were outside cleaning up, so there was no one else in the building. Lori continued through the large processing room to a small area in the back that was furnished with several high-topped tables and comfortable barstools. Two upholstered couches were in one corner, creating a cozy seating area. The floor and walls were stone, and the ceiling was wooden with heavy oak beams.
“This is our private tasting room for special customers,” Lori explained and motioned for him to take a seat on one of the couches.
Justin waited for her to sit, then sat across from her. “Very nice,” he said, referring to artwork that had lined their path and decorated the walls.
“They’ve been in the family for years.” She picked up a decanter on the coffee table and poised it over a long-stemmed goblet. “Are you still going to pass on that glass of wine, Ranger Archer?”
“Unfortunately yes, Mrs. Roberts. Maybe another time.”
“You should stop by when you’re off duty. We have live music every weekend and all sorts of events until the end of the summer.” She poured a glass for herself and lifted it to her lips. “And please, call me Lori.”
Justin smiled, then remembered that he wasn’t there on a social call, and the smile quickly disappeared. He looked at her and struggled to keep from getting lost in her clear blue eyes. He wished they could talk about the vineyard, her daughter, where Lori liked to go on vacation, her favorite food…how she felt about dating lawmen…anything but what he really needed to discuss with her. In all his years of police work, he had never been so distracted by a person involved in a case.
“So, Ranger Archer, if you don’t mind my cutting to the chase, what exactly can I do for you today?”
Justin forced his thoughts back to the matter at hand. Ignoring her request to use her first name, he said, “Mrs. Roberts, as you are probably aware, a survey team found a body behind your property two months ago.”
She sipped her wine and watched him over the rim of the glass. “I heard they’ve been given the all-clear to resume construction.”
“Yes, all the evidence has been gathered, and the results of the DNA tests are in.” He paused for effect, then continued solemnly. “I’m very sorry to inform you that the remains we recovered are your husband’s.”