Four
The Boulder County Jail is located at the top of a hill that overlooks a public park in East Boulder on the way to the municipal airport. I wonder if the families walking dogs, having picnics, and making use of the biking grounds know they’re a few yards away from a compound housing close to five hundred inmates.
The building is intimidating, all concrete and metal. Red accents pop from the otherwise tan exterior on doors, trim, and gates. The landscaping is minimal, primarily composed of gravel, a crowded dirt parking lot, and flagpoles.
I hesitate at the entrance to the facility, my heart pounding so hard I fear it might actually take flight. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. I’ve been so desperate to do something to help Reid, but now that we’re here, I’m riddled with anxiety.
Sage, however, doesn’t appear to share my discomfort. She marches through the outer metal door as if she does this on a daily basis. Which, given her career aspirations, is probably a good thing. She’s all fire and confidence, from the way she tilts her chin a fraction upward to her thrown-back shoulders. Maybe it’s the Captain Marvel T-shirt.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I follow her inside. Nerves accost me, making my actions extra twitchy, and I accidentally step on the back of Sage’s shoe.
“Easy there, tiger,” she says, pulling at the heel of her Mary Jane flat. “It’ll be okay.”
I nod, giving her an inch, and we continue through the inner door and into a cramped lobby.
The small space is charged with a weird resigned energy. There are only two rows of plastic chairs, all of which are occupied by people who look as dazed and upset as me. Complimentary lockers for personal belongings line the back wall, and on either side are posters advertising things like the importance of care packages for inmates and instructions for loading minutes onto a calling card.
In the far corner, a receptionist is perched behind a protective caged barricade. I make my way to her, noting her uniform and the badge gleaming on her chest.
Sage gives me the go-ahead at the counter.
Peeling my tongue from the roof of my mouth, I start, “I—uh—want to see an inmate.” The last word prickles in my mouth like overly tannic wine.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asks matter-of-factly.
“No.”
“You need to schedule a visitation twenty-four hours in advance.” She folds her hands over a clipboard.
The reality of the situation hits me afresh and I almost sink to the concrete floor. My boyfriend has been arrested for a crime he didn’t commit, and now I can’t see him—comfort him—for a bare minimum of twenty-four hours. It’s enough to make my eyes sting from repressed tears. Sage rubs my back.
My friend’s presence fuels me with courage to try again. “But there must be some mistake. They think—”
The lady officer shakes her head, cutting me off. Not unfriendly, just informative. “You’ll have to take that up with the detective handling his or her case.” She keeps talking, but my mind snagged on something she said.
Rude as it is midconvo, I fumble for my phone and, finding the contact I’m looking for, press call.
Just as the line starts ringing, the very individual I’m dialing strides through a metal detector down the hallway to my right. My phone is still pressed to my ear, even as the ringing echoes through the nondescript corridor.
Sweet blissful hope surges through me at the sight of Eli Fuller—or, I should say, Detective Fuller. Because, at the moment, he’s my best shot at seeing Reid.
Eli digs his phone from his pocket and glances at the screen. He rubs his clean-shaven face before silencing it.
That’s right. He had the audacity to ignore my call.
My arm goes slack and my jaw drops in shock.
Eli and I attended high school together, where he was renowned for his antics as the Boulder Cineplex stoner. In the ten years since graduation, he’s done an about-face, becoming a clean-cut, rule-abiding detective. Gone are the Birkenstocks, tie-dye, unkempt hair, and bloodshot eyes. In their place are polished leather shoes, a smart navy suit, hair gelled into a suave wave, and analytical brown eyes.
Eli helped me out of a pickle earlier this year when a crazed killer used my winery as the venue for their murdering spree. Since then, I’ve called him a few times to go climbing, a hobby we share, but he’s always declined. Sure, he might have been genuinely busy. Or he might have been avoiding me, like he is now.
I thought we’d be able to move past the awkwardness of my rejecting his romantic advances, but I guess not . . . which hopefully won’t dissuade him from assisting my current beau.
“Here goes nothing,” I mutter under my breath, stashing my phone in my purse.
“I’ve got your back,” Sage says. She rocks onto the balls of her feet. “And remember, I speak legalese.”
With his head bowed, consulting something in his notepad, Eli doesn’t notice Sage or me until he’s practically on top of us.
I clear my throat and he looks up, startled. We spend a moment pretending he didn’t just ignore my call and that I didn’t catch him in the act. Suffice it to say, there’s a reason neither of us is in theater.
I rest my hand on my hip. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Emotions play out on his face as his eyes grow from pained to guarded. “Parker. It’s good to see you.” His tone betrays the insincerity of his words.
My lips twitch. I’m keenly aware of Sage, at the ready to jump to my defense. But you know what they say about flies and honey. So, I chuckle like someone’s told a joke and try for an innocuous tone. “I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. Reid was brought in early this morning.”
Eli flips his notepad closed and tucks it in his jacket pocket, giving us a glimpse of his gun, strapped to his chest by a shoulder harness. “There’s been no misunderstanding.”
“O-kay,” I say, drawing out each syllable of the word. I tap my sneaker-clad foot and wait for him to continue.
I sense the receptionist observing us curiously, no doubt seconds away from calling security. Little does she know, I have an in with the Boulder PD. At least, I hope I do.
Eli exhales. “I’m working the Flores case. We have probable cause that Mr. Wallace is the perpetrator.”
And jackpot. I suspected as much given Eli’s lack of surprise at seeing me. Here. At the jail. I mean, I know I got entangled in an investigation earlier this year, but that’s long over.
“What evidence do you have?” Sage interjects.
Pity flashes across Eli’s face, but his voice is stern when he responds, “That’s none of your concern.”
I feel like I’m a thin-skinned grape being crushed under the harsh foot of the justice system. My breathing hitches and I sway. It takes all my effort to keep myself upright.
“Actually,” Sage interjects, her voice steely, “as Reid’s legal defense, it is my concern.”
Eli raises his eyebrows, skeptical. “I’ll have to check with Mr. Wallace. If he agrees to see you, I can grant you fifteen minutes.”
I nod mutely, a numbness seeping through my body.
“Only Sage. Sorry, Parker.” He gives me another pitying glance, a hint of warmth entering his caramel eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
He retraces his steps, going back through the metal detector and down the hallway, his shoes squeaking against the polished floor. He disappears through a mystery door, which clangs shut.
I let out an exhale and look at Sage. “Thanks for that.”
“This doesn’t look good.” She ushers me into a recently vacated seat in the lobby and kneels in her pencil skirt so we’re at eye level. “Is there anything you want me to tell Reid? Any message I can pass along?”
I think of the night before. Of Reid stomping grapes with me, our knees bumping into each other. His lips on mine as he gracefully dipped me backward in a sweeping embrace. His cocksure grin and the truffles he brought me, my favorite brand of chocolate.
I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep a sob from escaping.
What do you say to someone in this situation? What words could possibly ease the pain of losing a friend and the humiliation of being blamed for it?
“Ask him if there’s anything I can do. And—” I hesitate, licking my lips. “And tell him I love him.”
“You got it.”
Sage doesn’t know the weight of those three words. Doesn’t know it’s the first time I’m saying them to Reid. Indirectly, yes, but it still counts. Truth be told, I’ve felt the capital L for Reid for a while now, but my last relationship left me with some undeniable trust issues.
My last boyfriend, Guy, and I were like impersonator champagne. The bubbles and floral aroma might pass for the real thing, but they don’t come together quite right. Unfortunately, it took us years and an ultimatum to figure that out.
After Guy had accepted a political consultant job in D.C., we spent six tense months trying the long-distance thing before he pressured me to play the dutiful girlfriend, abandon my winery plans, and move across the country. I chose myself—my dream—and, while it was ultimately me who broke it off, we both got burned.
Here I thought he’d loved me for my determination, my goals, my brain. Turns out, he loved his vision of me more than the real me.
So, yeah, trust issues.
But it’s important Reid knows that I’m here for him, that I believe him, that our relationship is more than the elation of the shiny honeymoon phase. Even if it means waiting to learn how he reacts—if he has a response—through my friend.
I hide my face in my hands.
Eli returns and gestures for Sage to follow him.
I watch Sage and Eli walk away, feeling utterly helpless.
When left unharvested, grapes will shrivel on the vine. The sugars will become too concentrated to use in wine, or in much of anything. But that’s not the worst of it. The vine will take this unharvested fruit to mean it doesn’t need to produce as many grapes the following year. Which will lead to a steady decline.
I wonder if love is the same way, and what it could mean for me and Reid. I wring my hands in my lap as I wait for Sage. My seat faces a window with a view of the parking lot. A gust of wind kicks up dirt, sending it swirling into the air. A lone tumbleweed rolls past and snags on a fence post.
Eli has since returned. He makes a phone call, pacing far enough away from me that I only hear mumbled words. After he hangs up, he takes one of the coveted chairs at my side, resting his forearms on his knees. He checks his watch at least once a minute, steadfast in his assurance to not give Reid and Sage a millisecond longer than they’re allotted.
I try to picture Reid and Sage in one of those cold, dim rooms. I wonder what they’re saying. If Sage is using her mental prowess to get Reid out of this, if Reid is drumming his hands on the table, like he’s prone to doing when forced to sit too long. What he thought of my message.
I let out an audible exhale. It must not have been my first one, because Eli side-eyes me, his gaze steady.
“Have you been climbing lately?” he asks.
“You know I have,” I say quietly. “I’ve invited you to go.”
The thing about climbing is, it’s better with a friend. A belayer broadens the range of what you can do and opens up more routes. After randomly bumping into Eli at the gym a few times earlier this summer, I’d harbored hopes we could become regular climbing buddies. But alas, he’s always cited some vague excuse for why he can’t join me.
“I’ve been busy.”
A vague excuse like that.
“Right.” I snort and roll my eyes but let it go. Because, right now, I couldn’t care less about Eli’s bogus schedule conflicts.
A silence falls between us. An older couple, looking lost, enters the waiting area, but from the lawyerly figure trailing them, I know they’re not lost. I spare them a thought, hoping whomever they’re here for is deserving of their devotion.
Eli leans forward, staring at his hands. “Look, I wish there was more I could do.”
I cut a sharp glance at him. “Do you, though?”
“Of course.” He furrows his eyebrows. “You’re the last person I wanted to see here.”
I wince. That’s harsh.
“You know what I mean. Involved in another one of my cases.” He shifts in his seat and runs a hand through his hair, messing up the perfect side part. Frazzled is a completely foreign look on him.
While he’s agitated, I make one last play for information. “Why do you think Reid did this?”
I must be the picture of pitiful—red-rimmed eyes, unkempt hair, beat-up jeans—because he actually answers.
He lowers his voice. “This stays between us, and I’m only telling you so you can be on your guard and carefully consider those you associate with.”
He doesn’t spell it out, but I catch his drift. He’s warning me about Reid, challenging my feelings for him. I don’t appreciate it.
“The evidence is damning,” Eli says. “Mr. Flores was killed with Reid’s knife. A witness overheard him and Mr. Flores arguing in the alley behind the establishment called Spoons. They went to check and saw Reid and Oscar fighting, a wrestling match that resulted in the stabbing of Mr. Flores. And then there’s Reid’s injury.”
He waves his hands as if this final fact clinches the deal.
“Reid cut himself in the kitchen. It happens all the time.” Even as those last words leave my mouth, I realize they aren’t true. In fact, since Reid and I started dating I have never seen him cut himself—not even so much as a nick.
“Could be,” Eli says with a shrug. “Or could be it was the result of an altercation with Oscar.”
“Reid has an alibi. He was with me at Vino Valentine last night.”
“Really?” He gives me a look of sheer disbelief. “You were with him every second? The whole night?”
“Well, no,” I admit.
Eli looks so smug he might as well be twirling a handlebar mustache between two fingers. “The coroner places the murder happening sometime between ten and two o’clock.”
I’m not sure exactly what time Reid got to Vino Valentine, having been occupied in my therapeutic stomping, but it’d been late, probably close to midnight, well after Spoons closed.
But Reid is often at the restaurant late—whether for extra cleaning, taking stock of ingredients, or prepping for the next day. I just wish I knew what kept him last night.
“What about a motive?” I ask. “Reid and Oscar are friends, have been for ages.”
“The psychology of a murderer is not always easy to understand.”
“Reid isn’t a murderer.” I grind my teeth.
Eli is on the verge of saying something else but stops. “I’ve told you too much already. We have probable cause. He could be a danger to himself or others.”
With that, frowning, he turns his attention to the screen of his phone.
I want to retort that the only danger will be me if my boyfriend isn’t released soon. But it would be pointless.
Instead, I get to my feet in a huff and move closer to the receptionist, stuffing my hands in the pocket of my hoodie.
Stupid detectives and their stupid protocol.
I sense motion on the other side of the metal detector and gaze down the hallway in time to see Sage emerge from a room that must be used for visitations. And behind her, flanked by officers, is Reid.
Reid almost appears the same. Roguish good looks enhanced by his beard and lean muscles. Sandy-blond hair with coppery undertones the color of port. Skin tanned from hiking and perusing the outdoor farmers market. The same except, of course, for the orange jumpsuit, handcuffs, and laceless slippers.
Sage says something to him and he nods, his gaze fixed on the floor before him. Even though he’s standing tall, there’s a tension in his shoulders and his jaw is clenched.
I stare at him, directing my mental focus to send him a message via whatever version of the Force really exists: look this way.
And then he does.
Our eyes meet and his demeanor transforms. Relief washes over his face and his shoulders relax. He drinks in my face like a dehydrated runner at the top of Mount Sanitas drinks water. I do the same with his.
His lips twitch and he forces a cocky smile on his face. I can tell it’s for show, his way of saying he’s okay.
I shake my head, letting him know I don’t buy it.
He shrugs, like, It was worth a shot.
He starts to mouth something but an officer grabs him by the upper arm and pulls him in the opposite direction. Reid gives me one last look before turning the corner and disappearing into the folds of the prison.
I’m still staring down the hallway when Sage waves her hands in front of my face. “Earth to Parker.”
“Sorry, just . . .”
“Engaging in a visual lip-lock. I get it.”
I blink at her, my tone turning defensive as I respond, “Making the most of the only contact I can have with my boyfriend.”
“Let’s fix that, shall we?” Sage links her arm through mine and guides me to the receptionist.
I allow her to tug me along, still reeling from seeing Reid manhandled in handcuffs, the bright orange of his jumpsuit seared into my mind.
“Excuse me,” Sage says through the wire mesh. “We’d like to schedule a visitation for tomorrow.”
“Fill this out.” The officer slides a clipboard, sheet of paper, and pen through the small opening in the barrier. “As long as you’re on the inmate’s list, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Sage accepts the form on my behalf, which is probably for the best given the way the font swims before my eyes, and begins jotting down answers to the questions—my name, birth date, even my address.
While Sage writes, I search her face for an indication as to how the visit went. You know, a sign that this nightmare will be over stat or, at the very least, that my boyfriend responded to my declaration of love.
I can’t read her expression.
We return the application and, a minute later, I’m officially entered into the system and given a slot for the following day. There’s a flutter of nerves and anticipation in my chest, and the fleetest stirring of hope.
Eli drifts to our side.
Sage straightens and raises her chin, leveraging every inch of her petite frame. She strikes the very definition of a power pose as she addresses Eli. “I’d like to petition to have my client’s arraignment hearing as soon as possible.”
Eli chuckles. “You’ll have to take that up with the DA. Mr. Wallace’s first appearance has already been set for tomorrow morning.”
“Can’t it be any sooner? This afternoon?”
“Doubtful,” he says, sliding his fingers through his belt loop. “This is all pretty standard. Since he was booked this morning, it’ll be the following day.” Eli shifts his attention from Sage to me. “Reid will be okay for one night.”
“If you say so.” I want to believe Eli. Really, I do. But in the back of my mind, there’s this niggling voice telling me it could be more than one night. That there’s a chance Reid won’t be okay.
Sage gives Eli a curt nod, narrowing her eyes. “I expect you’ll let me know if there’s any news.”
I’d hate to be opposite Sage in a courtroom. She’s exuding an air of assertiveness that no doubt some would interpret as catty. As for me? I couldn’t be prouder.
Eli’s lips tighten into a thin line, but he responds, “You bet.”
“Great,” Sage says. “Let’s go, Parker.”
“I’ll walk you guys out,” Eli says.
Sage shoots him a look that would turn all the grapes at the back of my winery into raisins.
He backpedals, gesturing vaguely toward the receptionist. “Actually, I’ve gotta check on something.”
I give Eli a little wave before following Sage, who’s already a few paces ahead of me.
She marches through the doors of the jail and across the parking lot at such a grueling pace I have to jog to catch up. It’s not until we reach her car that she says something.
“I’m not going to lie to you, it doesn’t look good.” She slumps into the driver’s seat of her Mini Cooper.
“I know.” I massage my temples, replaying all the facts Eli gave me. “How is he?”
“Surprisingly calm given the situation and not nearly as cooperative as he should be.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are holes in his timeline from last night.” She fiddles with her car keys. “And I basically had to coerce every bit of information out of him.”
“What holes?” I ask. “I can tell you where he was.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes,” I say, hating the uncertainty in my voice. “He was at the restaurant, then Vino Valentine, and then his place.”
Sage pierces me with her blue eyes, musing. “Either way, I got what I needed.”
She starts the car, turning up the AC, the sun having baked the dark seats. I buckle my seat belt, wondering what exactly Sage isn’t saying.
I can barely bring myself to ask the next question. “Did Reid—uh—say anything?”
“He wanted me to tell you three things,” she starts, twisting in her seat so she can face me. “The first is if you’d be willing to check on William.”
William is Reid’s cat. He’s a sweet tuxedo kitty named after the war hero from Braveheart, as Reid would proudly proclaim. It’s high time William and Zin spent some time together. I nod. So far, so good.
“The second is to call his mother and let her know the situation.” She adds hurriedly, “So, yeah, good luck with that.”
I wince. That’s going to be one painful phone call.
Sage continues, “Third, shut down Spoons. Temporarily.”
The planner in me immediately constructs a to-do list. This request will involve a stop by the restaurant and likely enlisting the help of Britt or Nick, but I’ll do anything I can to help Reid.
I wait for Sage to continue. To tell me my boyfriend loves me with the passion of the ages—of poets, artists, and vintners.
But she shifts her car into reverse and backs out of the parking lot.
“Wait, that’s it?”
“Well, he also said not to worry about him, but I figure there’s a fat chance of that happening.”
She’s right. I’m basically a bundle of nerves and caffeine, a recipe for anxiety.
“But, yep, that’s all she wrote. Or he wrote.” She shakes her head, her ponytail swinging back and forth. “Whatever.”
I tell myself not to panic. Reid clearly has other things on his mind. Besides, I’m a strong, independent woman; I don’t need a man’s validation. Still, my cheeks flush in embarrassment. Why did I choose today to drop the L-word again?
I take a deep yoga breath and focus on what’s important. “Can you get him out of this?”
Sage pulls the car to a stop at an intersection, the ticking of her blinker the only sound. Even though there are no cars in either direction, she doesn’t proceed down the hilly road.
“I’m going to try my hardest, but I don’t know,” she says, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, her demeanor a far cry from the confidence she was radiating minutes ago. “At least you have a visitation scheduled for tomorrow in case the arraignment doesn’t sway in his favor.”
She eyes me warily, like I might burst into tears again. Can’t say I blame her.
However, far from provoking sadness, the sight of Reid incarcerated reinforced my steadfast belief in his innocence, and it effectively pissed me off.
New businesses have enough hurdles without a misplaced murder accusation. The harsh reality is this: with Reid out of commission combined with the backlash this debacle will incite, Spoons may not survive.
Not to mention our relationship. Am I really going to let Eli, the authorities, or some faceless judge ruin our chance at a long-lasting romance? I think not.
And that’s not all. Our partnership—pairing food and wine—was just getting off the ground. Sure, Vino Valentine might weather this storm, but working with Reid has been a dream, and I’m not ready for it to end.
Then there’s Oscar.
My chest clenches. I’ll never get to hear Oscar call me Uvas again. Never get to marvel at the flavors he coaxes out of simple ingredients. Never get to relish his playful banter.
Oscar didn’t deserve to die. Especially not by his friend’s sword—er, knife.
With all of these thoughts swirling through my mind, I vow to uncover what really happened last night.