Fourteen

I HAD a fitful night. The down comforter, so inviting before, now seemed hot and heavy. It didn’t feel as if there was any air in the room. I thrashed around until any real chance of sleep was gone, just about when silver moonlight gave way to a steel-gray dawn. With relief, I threw off the covers, opened the terrace doors and stepped into crisp morning air.

It was too early for the hotel kitchen to be open, so I managed a cup of French roast with the in-room coffeemaker. While it brewed, I pulled on a fluffy turquoise sweater, some jeans and sneakers, and pulled my curls back with two barrettes.

Grabbing the coffee and my camera from its case, I left the room and walked down the stairs and through the silent lobby. One person sat behind the desk as I tossed my empty cup away and slid open the rear doors. Passing the pool, its steam rising into the still morning air, I crossed into the open field of the vineyard.

The camera weight felt comforting in my hands as I snapped a few shots to test my settings. Most cameras today make these decisions automatically, but the results are predictable. Great photography often comes with camera settings that most would dismiss: a longer exposure, the reduction of light. The things that make a photograph extraordinary are sometimes hard to explain.

When I decided to be a photographer, I’d imagined spending my life capturing images of fleeting beauty. However, I’d been offered the chance to travel the world as a photojournalist, and beauty didn’t pay. The years I spent behind the camera required me to see far more of the world’s suffering than I could have imagined, often with more clarity than I would have liked. More than once I’d hidden my pain behind the lens. When a sense of survival would have softened the memories of what I’d seen, the remaining photos still existed to remind me. I’d been right to leave that behind, returning to the winery and taking the photos I wanted. Now, with some time spent away from that life, I was finally letting go.

I worked my way down long rows of vines, gnarled figures with their arms outstretched toward the sullen sky, waiting for winter to begin in earnest. Dark clouds rolled over the horizon, and from somewhere, thunder echoed through the valley. The starkness matched my mood. I would print the scene in black and white, so I shot it looking for contrasts in the grays. I picked my way across the rows until I hit the bike path. I was alone this morning. No dog walkers, happy tourists or even die-hard fitness buffs joined me. The air was heavy and still when I finally turned back toward the hotel.

Usually mornings spent alone with my camera brought comfort, but this time I carried the unease that had ruined my night. Two days had passed since Tara’s death, and the police still seemed focused on Chantal as the likely suspect. There were others with better motives, but finding Chantal in the caboose had moved her to the top of the list. Removing her from that list was going to be a difficult task, and I had no idea how to accomplish it.

I was lost in these thoughts when I felt a chill on my neck. Now, I’m easily spooked. Always have been. Ironic, considering what I’ve photographed. But behind a lens, I feel invisible. In reality, I’m not particularly brave, so at first I figured it was just my nerves. Nobody was on the path in either direction, and it was quiet. Wait. It was too quiet. I didn’t hear a sound. Any sound. Nothing, when moments before, birds had chirped and squirrels frolicked in the thicket around me.

With years of practice, I swung the camera to my eye and scanned the brush around me, but nothing unusual appeared in the magnified lens.

I turned back toward the hotel, casting glances over my shoulder. My sneakers didn’t make a sound. I strained to hear any movement behind me, and soon deliberate footsteps followed me through the brush. I picked up my pace, only to hear a branch snap.

When I sped up, the steps kept pace. I was in a deep curve of the path, out of sight of both the vineyard and hotel. The steps gained on me, coming from the side. Something in the thicket next to me spooked a flock of birds, and I started to run. The camera banged against my side. Tears ran down my cheeks and my lungs were burning. I wasn’t going to make it.

“Miss Penny!”

I looked up and George was standing at the curve. Abruptly the steps stopped, turned and faded. I quit running and bent over, breathing deep.

George walked up to me, wearing his Armani suit and pristine white walking shoes. “I say, it looks like you’ve overdone the running. I always try to fit in a walk before my shift. Never did take to all the jogging you native Californians love so much.”

I didn’t answer, mostly because I couldn’t. I was still grasping my sides and sweat was trickling down my cheek.

“Perhaps you need to pace yourself.”

“Someone was following me.”

“Just now?” George looked past me down the path. “I can’t see anyone.”

“In the forest. Somebody cut through the forest, trying to catch me in the bend. I heard them.”

“Maybe someone you know?”

“No, it wasn’t like that.” How could I explain?

“Wait here.”

“No problem.” I could barely stand.

George worked back down the path some distance before he retraced his steps.

“It looks to be empty now.” He raised a brow. “Maybe it was a deer or perhaps the birds. We have a lot of them around here that make unusual sounds.”

I shook my head, still holding my sides. “It wasn’t a bird.”

George took his time answering. He spoke slowly as he considered his response. “I believe you, indeed, but, um, with all due respect, it’s difficult to imagine how anyone would know you’d be here.” He turned slightly pink. “You don’t appear to be a regular morning jogger. And at this time of day, I don’t mean to question you, but are you sure you didn’t imagine it?”

“I’m sure. I was in the vineyard for an hour, easily visible from the hotel, so it could have been someone from here. They might have seen me start toward the path and gotten ahead of me.” I shook my head. “It wasn’t my imagination.”

“No, no. Of course not. I am only pointing out the things other people will be asking of you. The obvious comment you’ll hear is that these woods are full of deer and rabbits.”

He was right. It wasn’t a deer, but I didn’t have any proof. The forest was again filled with the rustling of squirrels and birds chirping in the trees. How to describe to George how that all went quiet, that a deer wouldn’t have caused that terrible stillness to descend?

“You still look quite pale,” George said. “I suggest we retreat for a nice cup of coffee. The strongest brew I can get you to drink. Perhaps even with a bit of a kicker, if I may be so bold.”

“You certainly may.” I followed him back to the hotel with one last glance over my shoulder. It was the same vineyard, the same path. It looked as it had this morning, but now a pall hung over the landscape and I knew, for me, everything had changed.

*   *   *

“ARE you sure you didn’t imagine it? You’ve been a little high-strung your entire life, and this hasn’t been the most relaxing trip.” Antonia waved her hand. “I’m not trying to dismiss what you felt. I’m sure it was perfectly frightful. I’m just not sure it was actually real.”

We sat on blue-and-white-striped recliners out in the gardens. Honeysuckle scented the late-autumn air. Water splashing into the pool echoed around us.

“So you aren’t dismissing my fears, you just think they’re all in my head.”

“It’s simply hard to imagine something like that happening. I mean, if someone did try to corner you this morning, what was the motive? You didn’t know Tara or anyone else on this trip before we got here, so what would be the point of harming you?”

“The point is pretty obvious to me. Here I am going around basically accusing everyone we’ve met since arriving of possibly throwing someone off a train. If I’ve hit a raw nerve, it shouldn’t be any great surprise.”

“Speaking of raw nerves. No need to get testy with me.”

“Nobody’s chasing you through the brush, Antonia.”

“Yes, well, you know I do appreciate your efforts. Chantal does as well.”

“Yes, she looks overcome with gratitude, although it’s hard to tell when she’s sipping wine and reigning supreme in the Jacuzzi.” Chantal soaked in the steaming water with a red-lace-over-black bikini, a cloud of testosterone surrounding her. “She’s got every man in the place at attention. They look like a swarm of drones.”

“Not all of them.” Antonia nodded toward the far end of the pool.

Connor swam laps and, since I’d arrived, he hadn’t glanced Chantal’s way once. I knew. I kept checking.

“Are you going to tell him about your encounter this morning?”

“No. There isn’t anything to be done about it, so why get him worked up for nothing?”

“I agree wholeheartedly. I’m sure it was quite frightening while you were going through it, but in the retelling, some of that is lost. I’m not saying you aren’t accurate in your account, I just don’t know what there is to be gained by telling Connor.”

Antonia closed her eyes and dropped her head back on the recliner. The sun was warm. Every bit of the morning gray had burned away. I didn’t blame Antonia for being unconcerned with the morning’s events. Here, with the sun playing across my arms, it seemed surreal even to me.

“Why don’t you go for a swim and take your mind off it?” Antonia said.

“I don’t know.” I watched Connor swim laps. “Maybe I’ll just read for a while.”

“You could go into the spa and take a steam bath. The girl from Chicago, Kim, has been in there every day since we arrived. She loves it.”

“That sounds good, actually.” I stood to leave.

Antonia held out her hand to stop me.

“What?”

She studied me. “You’re looking more like your aunt every day. She had flawless skin, and you have the same big brown eyes. You also have curves where you’re supposed to.”

“Yeah, a few too many curves.”

She shook her finger at me. “Nonsense. You’re being too hard on yourself.” She tipped her head to where Connor now rested at the edge of the pool. “He doesn’t care if you aren’t perfect or that you could stand to lose a few pounds. You’re beautiful.”

“Why, Antonia, you old softy.”

Antonia raised her brows and shook her head. “I’m serious. I’ve spent far too much time alone. I don’t want to see the same thing happen to you.”

I leaned toward her. “It isn’t like you to get sentimental. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

There was a splash from the pool, and we looked over. The drones had parted and Connor sat on the edge of the Jacuzzi and toweled off. He said something to Chantal and she threw back her head and laughed.

“Stubborn. You’ve always been so stubborn. And now you’ve missed your chance. Serves you right.”

I shook my head. “Ah, you’re back. My world is right once again.”

Antonia stood. “Don’t forget about our dinner tonight at Berninni Winery. I’m going to take a nap.”

“I’m sure you want to look your best for Olympio.”

Antonia’s cheeks colored. “I just told you I’ve spent too much time alone. If I can salvage an old flame, more power to me.”

“No argument here. I do think it’s nice he’s invited all of us still in town because of, you know, the accident. I wonder if Tara’s husband will come.”

“Big Dave? I wouldn’t if I were him. Why be reminded of what’s happened? I’m sure Vance won’t go. He’s probably in town looking for action. Nothing but trouble, that young man.” She turned to go. “Enjoy your afternoon.”

I nodded and spent a few moments watching Chantal make ten males feel like they were all somehow special. A smile here, a pat on the shoulder there. She made it look far too easy.

Connor was back swimming laps, but I’d lost interest in joining him. Instead, I grabbed a towel and headed toward the spa.

Big Dave sat under a eucalyptus tree farther down the path. I stopped, waiting until he raised his head. His eyes were red and his hands shook as he twisted them in his lap. “Penny, you have a minute?”

“Of course.” I sat on the bench next to him. “What a lovely spot to find a little peace. Been here long?”

“Couple hours.” He pointed to the book next to him. “I keep thinking I should try and do something, then I realize I’m still sitting here in the same spot.”

If he’d been on the path with me earlier, he didn’t let on. I couldn’t see him running very far. I wasn’t fast, by any stretch, but he was a big guy and whoever had been following me kept up with ease.

“Where’s Vance?”

He shrugged. “He was hitting balls earlier this morning, and when he finished, he planned to head into town. But I don’t really know where he is now.” Big Dave swung his head my direction. “Why do you ask?”

I placed my palms on the bench behind me and leaned back. Very nonchalant. “Oh, that’s just me. Always being nosy.”

“You sure like asking questions. Have you gotten any answers that might explain what happened to Tara?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. He looked distraught, but how else would he look? Either he was genuinely desolate or he needed to come across that way. Not many husbands would put up with Tara’s flirtatious ways, and I wasn’t ready to believe his easy acceptance of her prior behavior just yet.

“Nothing so far. There are still a lot of things I’d like to know. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a couple more questions.”

“Ask whatever you want.”

“Well, for starters, I heard that Tara wasn’t the type to sign a prenup.”

Big Dave flinched and his head jerked back. “Who told you that?”

He didn’t need to know I’d gotten that tidbit from Seth. “Is it true?”

“Sure, but it never came up. It was never an issue.”

“I find that hard to believe. I mean, a man with your wealth . . .”

“That’s the whole point. Don’t you get it? Even if she ended up with a chunk, hell, even half of it, I’d still have more than I know what to do with. I’m a country boy. There wasn’t anything I needed or wanted more than Tara’s smile.”

“Did Vance know that Tara hadn’t signed a prenup?”

“I never said anything to him, but you can’t think he would have done this. He’s my son.”

“He has a strong motive. We all heard him at lunch. He didn’t like the way Tara spent your money.” I stood. “It isn’t anything the police won’t figure out for themselves.” If they were looking, that is. “I can stop asking questions if you think it might lead somewhere you don’t like.”

That wasn’t going to happen, but the conversation needed an olive branch.

He shook his head. “No, you ask everything you want to ask. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

I couldn’t help it, I believed him. But then again, what else would he say?

“What about Vance?”

Big Dave made fists with both hands, placed them on the bench and pushed himself up. “Now, I want to set the record straight. I don’t think he’s capable of something this terrible. He’s far from perfect, but this is a whole new league. However, if Vance has something he’s hiding, I hope you do find it. I’ve been as good a father as I know how to be. Somebody was killed. Someone I love. You find out who.”

“I’m planning on it.”

“I do ask one thing of you, Penny. Keep an open mind about Chantal. If there’s one thing I learned about my Tara, it’s that she could make other women crazy with jealousy. It might be Chantal did this terrible thing. You can’t just discount her being found in the caboose with no one able to get out of there after the brake was pulled.”

Big Dave hadn’t spent all his time crying over the last couple of days. He’d been paying attention.

“I’ll remember to keep Chantal on the list,” I said.

“Don’t forget, Tara knew both Seth and Barb from living here as a kid. Maybe there’s something there.”

I nodded. “Maybe.”

“How do you find out more?”

“Spend as much time as possible with everyone that has a motive.”

“Makes sense. Let me know if I can help.”

“You can. Are you planning on going to the dinner tonight at Berninni Winery? Olympio invited all of us still being kept here because of, you know, the investigation.”

“I wasn’t planning on it. Haven’t had much of an appetite. You think I should go?”

“The more time we all spend together, the more likely someone will let something slip. Something that doesn’t add up, that sticks out.”

“I’ll be there.”

“I suppose Vance won’t want to come.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll be there too.”