Fourteen
Fun fact: grapes take on the flavor of plants that grow around them. If they neighbor a peach tree, they’ll have a tangy sweetness. If they’re near an apple orchard, they’ll taste crisp and citrusy. I wonder if people are like that, and what would happen to someone made to ripen alone.
The diner looks different now. Haunted. The cheerful purple paint has gone the same way as Jolly’s dream, and there are three handprints pressed into the cement walkway, two adult size and one that clearly belonged to a child. My heart breaks afresh for the family.
Reid’s Jeep is a comfort, his scent like a soothing balm I’m all too happy to apply.
We spend the drive back to Boulder speculating on what became of Jolly’s progeny. I don’t know anyone with the last name of Jones, and it’s too common a name for Google to be of assistance. They could be anywhere.
“I wish Deloris had trusted us,” I say for probably the dozenth time, fiddling with my beaded necklace.
Reid drums his fingers on the steering wheel along with a melancholy song that fits the mood perfectly. “Can’t blame her. Two strangers showing up, asking random questions. I’m shocked she told us as much as she did.”
“I suppose I have you to thank for that.” I study his profile, scruff just starting to appear on his chin. “So what’s your cat’s name?”
“William,” he says with pride, casting furtive glances my way.
“Cool?” I venture, since he seems to be waiting for a response.
He looks at me again, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “As in William Wallace from Braveheart.”
“Never seen it.”
“What?” He shakes his head, eyes wide in disbelief. He switches into a phony Scottish accent and continues, “That’s something we shall have to remedy, isn’t it?”
I chuckle at his terrible impersonation. While I have reservations about how much I’ll enjoy a biopic about a Scottish war hero, I’m hung up on the way he said we.
Excluding our almost-kiss on my balcony, I’ve refrained from mixing business with pleasure. I’ve never really been tempted. But with the future of Vino Valentine on the line, I can’t help but wonder, who is my rule really protecting?
My phone buzzes and I lunge for it, seizing the distraction. I answer to an excited squeal.
“I’m engaged!” Sage says breathlessly.
My chest constricts as a surge of disappointment rushes over me. Jason didn’t waste any time, a smart move on his part. If he’d given Sage one more day to mull over their relationship, her answer might have been different. I cringe, thinking of how I’m going to break the news to Liam.
“Congratulations.” My attempt at enthusiasm is flatter than a flute of day-old champagne. I rally by asking her how it happened.
“Jason surprised me with a picnic lunch at work. We ate along the Boulder Creek Trail. He hid the ring in a piece of cheesecake.”
“But you don’t like cheesecake,” I blurt out. “You’ve always called it an insult to cheese.”
“Because it is,” she says with an audible shudder. “But it’s the thought that counts.”
“Mm-hmm.” I study my fingernails. “What does the ring look like?”
She proceeds to describe the amethyst ring Jason showed me the other day, wrong for her on so many levels.
“It sounds . . .” I search for an appropriate word. “Pretty.”
“It is pretty.” There’s an edge to her voice, like she’s trying to convince herself as much as she is me. She sighs into the phone. “Can’t you just be happy for me?”
And now I feel like the worst friend ever. Because honestly, the ring, the proposal, none of that stuff matters in the grand scheme of things.
“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” I say. “Let me take you guys out later to celebrate. We can toast to your engagement.”
“Yeah, okay,” she says, a hopeful uptick to her voice. “Hey, I’ve gotta get back to work.”
I can picture The Manual standing beside her desk, adding one more case on top of her already hefty workload.
“I’ll text you the time and place,” I say before hanging up.
I lean back against the headrest and stare out the window. We’re back in Boulder, the number of pedestrians and bicyclists growing the closer we get to downtown.
Reid interrupts my brooding. “Did I hear you need somewhere to celebrate tonight?” It’s only now that I notice his drumming has stopped. He almost seems nervous.
“Yep, my friend is officially engaged.” Luckily, I have a few hours to put my big-girl pants on and show Sage I support her. “Why, do you know of somewhere?”
“How about The Pantry?” Reid asks, and then adds, “I can show you what I’m thinking of making for your party.”
I twirl a strand of hair around one finger; it may be the same one Reid touched earlier. “That sounds perfect. Thank you.”
I catch his eye, just long enough to feel a warmth blossom in my chest. He looks away quickly and I do the same, color dotting my cheeks.
We’re driving by the Hill with its eclectic cafés, hip restaurants, and tattoo parlors, when I realize what’s been bugging me about the PBR cans. Namely, who willingly drinks cheap beer: college students. And I can think of one house full of PBR-swilling dudes related to Gaskel’s case who could have vandalized my parents’ house. I just don’t know why.
“Can you make one more stop for me? On Grant Street.” I bounce on the edge of my seat. “I have a hunch I want to follow up on.”
“A murder-related hunch?” Reid asks, creases forming on his brow.
“I don’t have any other kind right now.”
The Hill operates in a different time zone than the rest of Boulder. Even though it’s technically afternoon, the streets are empty and the houses are quiet.
Reid and I stand shoulder to shoulder on the porch of Max’s house, camping chairs, cigarette butts, and Frisbees strewn about in place of a welcome mat.
I swallow nervously. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
Images of my family from this morning flash through my mind—my dad’s somber resolve, my mom’s distress-cleaning, and Liam’s camouflaged sadness. I’m doing this for them.
I lift my chin, leveraging every bit of my five-foot-four-inch frame, and knock.
The same guy who answered the door the other day greets us with a scowl, thankfully wearing more than boxers and a graduation cap.
“You again,” he says, his eyes flicking to Reid before returning to me. “I know you’re not Max’s girlfriend. She stopped by after hearing about his death.”
I lift my hands in defense. “I never said I was.”
It sometimes amazes me how death brings people together. After Aunt Laura died, relatives I hadn’t seen since I was a kid flew in from all over the country. We hugged one another and, through our tears, found a way to smile again. In this case, it sounds like Max’s roommates finally got to meet his mystery dream girl, albeit too late for him to show her off.
The guy barricades the entrance, but he’s too scrawny to block everything from my line of sight, like the rolls of toilet paper stacked at the bottom of the staircase.
“So what do you want?”
I decide bluntness is the best strategy. “Where were you and your roommates last night?”
“None of your business.” He hocks a loogie and spits, his saliva landing dangerously close to my shoe.
I inch closer to Reid. “Well, you see, it is my business. My parents’ house was trashed and my brother’s—”
“Your brother had it coming,” the guy says with clenched fists.
I cock my head, perplexed. I mean, Liam isn’t the most reliable, and no doubt he’s upset people, but not to this extent.
“What exactly did Liam do?” I ask.
“He’s the reason Max”—he chokes out his friend’s name—“is gone.”
Okay, now I’m really confused. I glance at Reid with one eyebrow raised. He appears to be just as lost as I am.
“Wait, back up,” I say. “What?”
“He killed him.” The unfiltered anger in his voice makes me break out in a cold sweat. “He picked a fight with Max, and when Max became too much for him, he forced poison down his throat.”
“No, he didn’t,” I say stupidly, unable to think of a better response.
I will my brain to catch up, but none of this jibes with what Eli told me about the crime scene. One thing is clear: his friends don’t believe Max’s death was suicide.
Reid comes to my rescue, speaking in an even tone, “That’s impossible. Liam was with us last night. He was indisposed.”
“That’s right, so he couldn’t have poisoned Max.” At least Liam’s drunken stupor was good for providing an alibi. Now that’s a thought I never expected to have. I shake my head, something dawning on me. “Who told you he was involved?”
Doubt crosses the dudebro’s face, his lips twitching into a frown. Then he crosses his arms over his chest and widens his stance. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Obviously,” Reid says dryly.
Another of Max’s roommates comes to the door, this one taller, broader, and sporting a black and gold CU Buffaloes jersey. His nose is crooked, as if it has been bashed in more than once.
“Who are you?” he grunts. “What’s this about?”
“We need to know who told you Liam was involved in Max’s death,” I say. “Please, it’s important.”
They both open their mouths at the same time, but with very different intentions.
The first one spits out, “None of your business.”
While the new arrival looks like he’s on the verge of giving us something—a name, a chance—he hesitates. He clamps his square jaw closed, and soon his scowl matches that of his roommate.
Before I can respond, Reid steps in front of me, matching their menacing glares. “I get it. You guys are protecting your own. That’s what we’re trying to do for Liam.”
The behemoth’s nostrils flare. “You know that bastard?”
“Say that again,” Reid dares, cocking his head to the side and clenching his hands into tight fists. Apparently, he’s a bad boy in more than just appearance.
As much as I’d like to defend my brother’s honor—or see Reid defend it, as it were—it’s not worth the hassle. These guys are clearly hurt over the loss of their friend, and lashing out at anyone who gives them reason to.
I grab Reid’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “We’d better be going.”
“But—” he starts.
I shake my head infinitesimally and tug on his arm. “Come on.”
He follows, begrudgingly, and together we jog down the steps.
“You’d better not come back,” the dudebro shouts from the porch.
I feel Reid’s hand tense in mine and, for a split second, I’m afraid he’s going to turn back, but he just lets out a string of expletives. We climb into his Jeep and Reid wastes no time shifting into gear and getting us the hell outta Dodge.
I glance in the passenger-side mirror, my heart pounding. Max’s roommates are still glaring after us when we turn on Broadway.
Without meaning to, they gave me exactly what I wanted: confirmation that they were the ones who vandalized my parents’ house, conceivably because they thought Liam was responsible for Max’s death. The real killer must have used them, and the distraction they caused, to steal Liam’s film and plant the ring. I would be impressed by the killer’s resourcefulness if I wasn’t so terrified.
“I could’ve taken those guys,” Reid says. “Could’ve gotten more out of them.”
“Yeah, at what cost?” I challenge.
“You’re probably right, but still . . .” He glowers, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk outside of Vino Valentine, his Jeep idling in the parking lot.
As expected, my shop is empty save for Anita. Next door, the Laughing Rooster is bustling, the sound of the espresso machine and earthy smell of coffee, cinnamon, and toasted bread wafting into the parking lot.
“Are you okay?” I ask, leaning against the hood of his Jeep.
“Yeah, great.” Reid clasps his hands over his head and takes deep breaths. “I should be asking you that.”
I’m not sure how to sum up my current state, so I go with the simplest answer: “I’m fine.”
He stops pacing and gives me a puzzled look, similar to the one he gave me at the Sundowner. His green eyes are disarming, as if they see straight to my core.
“What?” I ask, shifting on my feet.
“Nothing.” He rubs his chin and continues wearing a path in the sidewalk.
It’s clearly not nothing, but I have more pressing matters to deal with at the moment.
I dig Eli’s card from my purse and am dialing his number when said detective pulls into the parking lot.
Eli steps out of a nondescript navy car that pairs nicely with his crisp suit. In one fluid motion, he removes his aviator sunglasses and tucks them into his jacket pocket. I glimpse his gun, strapped to his chest by a shoulder harness, and hope he never has to use that thing.
“I came by to check on you,” Eli says to me, his caramel eyes warm and full of concern. He nods curtly at Reid. “Mr. Wallace.”
“Is there any news?” I ask hopefully.
“Handwriting specialists analyzed Max’s letter. While convincing, there are subtle differences. Enough to question its veracity.”
“Which means it wasn’t suicide.” I’d assumed as much, but a feeling of dread washes over me at having confirmation.
“Correct,” Eli says.
“Actually, I’m glad you’re here,” I say, proceeding to rehash Reid’s and my adventures. I fill him in on everything, our conversations at Gaskel’s memorial, our spontaneous day trip to Evergreen and the sad tale we heard there, and our confrontation at the Grant Street house.
Eli takes dutiful notes, his stance rigid. I can practically feel the stress radiating off of him, especially as I describe the almost-fight we got into at our last destination.
“You shouldn’t have gone there alone,” he says.
“She wasn’t alone,” Reid says. Is it me or is he hovering a little closer than usual?
An icy note enters Eli’s voice. “It was dangerous.” He focuses on me, lips pursed. “You promised you would stay out of the investigation.”
“That was before my family got involved.” I cross my arms over my chest. “The game changed.”
“This isn’t Monopoly, Parker. There is no Get Out of Jail Free card.”
Instead of making me feel chastised, his comment goads me. “Why exactly did you drag Liam in for questioning? You saw him passed out at my apartment last night. You knew he couldn’t have been involved in Max’s death.”
Eli considers me, his face void of emotion.
Reid watches me intently as he listens to our interchange. I shift under the weight of both men’s gazes.
Finally, Eli sighs. “Because we found traces of aconitine at his residence.”
“The green powder,” I say, remembering the circle of light green dust around the ring.
He nods. “There was a secret compartment in the ring that contained the poison, although given how it was positioned, someone wanted to make sure it was found.”
“Who?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” He turns his focus to Reid. “Mr. Wallace, I need to ask you a few questions.” With a pointed glance at me, he adds, “In private.”
“Lead the way, Detective,” Reid says with a flourishing wave. He winks at me, “See you tonight, Parks.”
My cheeks flush; Reid has that effect on me, regardless of the situation. “Thanks for the ride, and for all your help. Really.”
Eli clears his throat meaningfully and leads Reid out of earshot.
I have the best assistant.
Vino Valentine is pristine. The scent of oak barrels and the lavender from Anita’s perfume greet me when I open the door. Clean glasses have been artfully placed on tables, sparkling beneath the wine-bottle lanterns, and ambient acoustic music plays in the background.
“Hi, Parker,” Anita says from her perch behind the tasting bar. She pushes her trademark thick-framed glasses up her nose and shuts a hefty Econometrics textbook.
“Studying already?” I ask with one eyebrow raised. “School isn’t even in session.”
She shrugs, playing with the end of her ponytail, swiveling back and forth on a stool. “I wanted to get a head start for next semester.”
“Have you read anything enlightening—trends, predictions, venture miracles—that might save my business?”
She frowns.
“I’ll take that as a no,” I say, stashing my purse beneath the counter. “Thanks for opening this morning.”
“Sure thing.”
“Have there been any customers?”
Anita shakes her head, her eyes glued to her blond hair as if she were searching for split ends.
I shouldn’t be surprised. #KillerChardonnay is back with a vengeance. That damned hashtag has been trending all day, and my personal accounts continue to be attacked. Despite my efforts to defend myself with carefully crafted posts, my winery is still barren of customers. As I survey Vino Valentine, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me. I try not to let my hurt show and refocus on my troubled assistant.
“Is everything okay?” I ask gently.
When Anita doesn’t answer, I lean against the counter and cross my legs out in front of me, a casual way of cornering her. I recall her jumpiness with Eli and the way she rocked back and forth on her heels when I broached the topic later.
Panic roils in my stomach. “It’s time you tell me what’s bothering you.”
She sniffles quietly, a single tear plopping onto her textbook.
I wait, arms crossed over my chest, and watch her steadily. After the day I’ve had, nothing will surprise me.
Anita shrivels like a grape left on the vine for too long. She says in a small voice, “This isn’t really the experience I was hoping for.”
I try for a joke to lighten the mood. “You mean you weren’t interested in working at a crime scene?”
It doesn’t work.
My heart plummets. I look down at the hard maple countertop. “Are you quitting?”
“I really appreciate everything you’ve taught me, but if I want to start my own business someday, I need to actually learn how to conduct one,” she says. “With a profit margin and, well, customers.”
I wince and push my bangs away from my forehead. “What better experience is there than helping a struggling business survive?”
She shakes her head.
In a final cast of desperation, I throw her own words back at her, the ones she said to me that made me feel hopeful earlier in the week. “What happened to this being a storm my winery can weather?”
“I still believe that. I’m just not sure I can weather it with you.”
“Why not?” I press.
Her face twists in anguish. “Because I’m scared.”
“Scared?” I ask, the word echoing through my mind.
Tears trickle down her rosy cheeks, leaving trails of black mascara. “I’m terrified during every shift. Afraid”—she hiccups—“afraid something else might happen.”
I recall the hitch in her voice when I asked her to open earlier and feel a surge of guilt. My sole employee doesn’t feel safe working here. Can’t say I blame her.
“I’ve put a lot of thought into this,” she says, imploring me to understand with her eyes. “You’re such an awesome boss, I hate disappointing you.”
I pass her a cloth napkin. “You’re not disappointing me,” I say. “Honestly, if I were in your shoes, I would probably do the same thing.”
“R-really?”
“Can you work through the VIP party tomorrow night?” I ask, not ready to face that task alone. “Detective Fuller said he’d have officers stationed here, so it’ll be perfectly safe. And if you change your mind, as long as I have the resources, your position will always be here.”
“Of course. Thank you for understanding,” she says. “I should go freshen up.”
Anita disappears into the restroom to touch up her makeup, leaving me staring at the husk of my dream. Everything I care about is slowly being peeled away from me, like my life is going through a giant de-stemmer machine. I have to hope that there will be some remnant of myself left once all is said and done.