Nineteen
Lazy grapes make for weak wine.
Fruit that’s forced to struggle, thrive on less water, and cope in extreme climates tends to be more flavorful. Whereas grapes that are pampered and given everything they need may look plump and delicious, but they’re usually watery.
Not dissimilar from people.
Maybe that’s why the story from Reid’s childhood matters so much to me. We never quite outgrow who we were as children. Every experience ultimately contributes to the person we become.
I have to know what Reid meant when he said Ben got it wrong, and I have to find out now. Not in twenty-four hours, when I can wrangle a visitation.
So, after bidding adieu to Katy and the Floreses, I take the southbound Hop RTD line to Pearl Street. I’ve already skipped out on enough work to last me a lifetime, and taken advantage of Felix’s generosity, but at this point, what’s one more hour?
The flags outside the St Julien flap in the wind, strong gusts teasing my hair out of its low ponytail. The sun is hidden behind storm clouds with a foreboding navy tint to them.
The bellhop opens the door to the lobby for me. “You just beat the rain,” he says, gesturing to where large drops have started falling.
“Lucky me,” I say. The hair at the nape of my neck rises at the change in atmospheric pressure.
There’s less dread and more burning curiosity as I make my way up the elevator and down the meandering hallway to the Wallaces’ suite.
I’m hoping to find Ben or Tristan but would even settle for Camilla or Gary if it means getting answers.
I knock on their door and wait, moving to the side to let a family pass, heading to the indoor pool, if their swimsuits and goggles are any indication. I knock again, louder this time.
There’s a shuffling, a fumble with the dead bolt, and then Gary swings the door open.
One side of his face is crimson, as if he’s been severely sunburned. The skin is blistered and peeling, and his eye is swollen shut.
I stumble backward, finding myself pressed against the opposite wall of the hallway. “It was you!”
I glance from side to side, my breathing loud in my ears.
“Parker, wait,” Gary says, his voice unmistakably the one I heard in my ear last night, demanding I stay out of Oscar’s case.
My hand is around the pepper spray canister before I even comprehend that I’ve reached in my purse for it. “Come one step closer and I’ll finish what I started.”
Gary freezes, holding his hands up in front of him.
We have a standoff in the hallway, my arm raised in warning. My wounds hiss at me to stop, but I ignore them. Gary has a predatory glint in his eyes, cold and calculating.
We are making quite the spectacle. A bubble of laughter threatens to escape at the absurdity of this moment, but I swallow it down. There’s nothing funny about this situation.
“Be civil,” Gary says, as if I’m being ridiculous. He shifts his feet. “Come inside and let’s talk about this.”
I grip the canister tighter, my palm sweaty against the smooth metal. “There’s no way in hell I’m shutting myself in closed quarters with you. You can’t possibly think I’m that stupid.”
He looks me up and down. “You don’t want to know what I think of you.”
His gaze makes me feel grimy, like there’s a layer of sediment beneath my skin. “I can’t believe I ever wanted to impress you.” I think back to my naive self, how I’d pandered to their whims, took their criticisms silently. “Reid is going to go berserk when he finds out.”
I mean, I know the Wallaces weren’t thrilled with our relationship, but this is extreme. Seriously, how am I supposed to tell Reid? How can we possibly move forward after this?
“You don’t understand,” Gary growls. “Everything I did was to protect him.”
“How does scaring the crap out of me help Reid? How does it fix anything?” My voice is growing louder and more frantic, my heart hammering in my chest.
That’s when I realize what exactly he just said: everything. “You killed Oscar.” Tears and sweat mingle on my cheeks, and my arm begins to shake. “For freeloading off your family? For leeching off of Reid? Because I’ve got news for you: that wasn’t Oscar.”
Gary considers me for a moment, his blistered lips twisting into a scowl. The armpits of his white shirt are yellowed from sweat. To think he always appeared so pristine in his cable-knit sweaters and fancy suits, when underneath, he was hiding this ugliness all along.
He bends at the waist, his body suddenly heaving.
I press myself farther into the wall, a picture frame digging into my shoulder blades. A knot of fear lodges itself in my throat.
Gary makes an animalistic guttural sound that chills me to my core and, all at once, I realize he’s crying.
What a pitiful figure he strikes. But I’m too far gone with rage and fear to feel even an ounce of sympathy for the man who attacked me.
“My family is ruined,” he says, standing, tears streaming down his grotesque face. He clamps his puffy eye with his hand, breathing in a sharp hiss of pain. “Dammit, how long is this going to sting?”
“Hopefully a really long time,” I say. Then I turn on my heel and run.
My head is spinning and blood pounds in my ears as I race down the four flights of stairs to the lobby, not wanting to risk waiting for the elevator.
One hand still clutches the pepper spray, the other clings to the banister. My ankle twinges every other step and I grit my teeth through the pain. I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see Gary’s figure, but he doesn’t seem to be chasing me. At least, not yet.
Once I’m in the bustling lobby, with enough bystanders to rush to my aid if I shout fire, I hunch over my knees and take deep yoga breaths—in through my nose, out through my mouth—and try to get a handle on what I just learned.
My boyfriend’s father assaulted me. And killed Oscar.
Gary must have been the old friend Oscar had planned to meet. Oscar had always been big on sarcasm; he must’ve used the phrase ironically. And the help he was supposedly getting for Lucia must have been cash. Cold, hard cash. But how could Gary let his own son take the fall for his crime? Even if he and Reid are estranged, that’s low. Really low.
When I straighten back up, I have two simultaneous thoughts: one, that asshole is going to pay; and two, I really hope Camilla, Tristan, and Ben are okay.
The first thing I do is call Eli.
“No, I haven’t found anything to help Reid yet,” he starts with an aggrieved sigh, entirely oblivious to the real reason I’m calling. “And I won’t be able to if you don’t give me time.”
“Listen,” I blurt out, giving Eli a slightly frantic version of my run-in with Gary, finishing with a plea to hurry. “And bring backup, or whatever.”
“You don’t really understand how the police force operates, do you?” Eli asks.
“Does that matter right now?”
“Not a lick,” Eli says. “On my way.”
Next, I stop by the concierge’s desk. The same helpful lady from the other day is working, pumpkins dazzling on her fingernails. Her blond hair is knotted in a low ponytail hanging down her back and she’s in a posh pantsuit that gives her an air of authority.
“If you see Mr. Wallace, call security immediately,” I say. “The police will be here soon.”
She hesitates, her wide eyes blinking rapidly as she comprehends my warning. Maybe she’s sensed some evil in Gary, maybe it’s the dire look on my face or the pepper spray clutched in my hand, or maybe we live in an age where women have one another’s backs, no questions asked. Regardless, I’m grateful when she nods and hurries to speak with the bellhop.
She returns a moment later, readjusting her blazer. “We’ve got the exits covered. Can I get you anything?”
“Not unless you have a time machine I could use.” I lean against her desk, grateful to take the weight off my ankle.
Her lips twitch. “Sorry, not even for our premier guests.”
“Figured.”
My immediate panic has subsided, leaving in its place a numb disbelief. I turn toward the lobby, scanning the space for the rest of the Wallace clan. If Camilla and her older sons aren’t aware of what a danger Gary is, I’ll have to break the news to them. And if they do know . . . well, I really don’t want to think about what that could mean.
I half expect to find them playing Parcheesi, or whatever it is the upper crust of society does on vacation, but don’t see them.
It’s pouring rain outside now, those few large drops I’d witnessed progressing into a full-fledged deluge. Colorado may resemble a desert, but when it does rain here, it’s serious. Flash floods and mudslides are frequent occurrences, thanks to the heavy clay soil, and right now, the terrace is covered in puddles, and what I can see of the mountainside looks slick.
My teeth chatter at the rapidly cooling temperature and I rub my arms, finding them lined with goose bumps. I have flashbacks to the night before. Of the weight of Gary on my chest, his breath in my ear, the menace in his voice. I shudder, my throat constricting.
I can’t stop fidgeting, can’t bring myself to focus on the botanical upholstery of the cushy armchairs or stately wooden pillars. Rocking on my feet and wringing my hands, I cast furtive glances about, checking for Gary; Eli and his squad; or Camilla, Ben, or Tristan. But there are only relaxed hotel guests or passersby seeking shelter from the storm.
My phone buzzes.
I frown when I see it’s the business line at Vino Valentine. “Hi, this is Parker.”
I barely recognize Felix’s voice. What’s usually so deep and gravelly is now filled with panic. “Where the hell are you?”
“Pearl Street,” I answer vaguely. “Why?”
“I’m drowning here.”
“I don’t doubt it,” I say, eyeing the rivulets of water rushing down the street outside and into a storm drain.
“This isn’t the time to be cute,” Felix snaps. “I’m in way over my head. We’ve been slammed for hours. You’ve gotta get back here.” As if to prove his point, there’s a loud crash on his end of the line.
My heart flutters with nerves and guilt. I feel like I’ve been trying to juggle every aspect of my life and all the balls are dropping to the floor at once.
I chew on my bottom lip and run a hand through my limp hair, pondering the best way to handle everything. The hotel staff has things covered until Eli gets here, and perhaps it’s time I heeded his and Reid’s wishes and practice caution, take myself out of harm’s way. In an instant, I’ve made up my mind.
“Be there in ten,” I tell Felix. “Hang in there.”
I end the call, send Eli a quick text, and jog to the concierge’s desk for good measure. “Can you take a message for the detective?”
“Absolutely,” she says, her hand poised over a pad of paper.
“Tell him Parker will meet him at the station.” I’ve been involved in enough investigations to know I’ll need to be questioned further after this ordeal, plus, this way I’ll hear the second Reid is released from jail. “I need to make a quick stop first to take care of something and then I’ll be there.”
I don’t wait for her response before dashing out into the storm, praying to Bacchus—god of the grape harvest and winemaking—that I can get a ride in this weather.