One Foot in the Grape (14 page)

If the desk was sparse, the wall across from me made up for it. In one corner there was a white examination coat, which
hung from a suit hanger on a coatrack. Next to it, shelves rose to the ceiling above two leather chairs. Brice fancied himself quite the athlete. Mementos and trophies made up the majority of items, and the awards were mostly from tennis, lacrosse and polo.

Personal pictures filled the rest of the shelves. Brice smiled out of photos of him with the governor, and there were several of him and the last three mayors of San Francisco. None of them looked particularly happy, and my opinion of politicians rose slightly. There was also one of Brice and Francesca. She looked even less happy than the politicians.

Well, if I was leaving a note, I should have a pen and paper. Good thing there wasn't anything on the desk to use. The top drawer slid open with ease. Several Montblanc pens and a leather address book. I breezed through the names. I recognized several, and there were more I didn't. No big surprise female names outweighed males four to one.

I closed the drawer and opened the right side. Tickets to
La Bohème
, a prescription pad and a well-thumbed copy of
Playboy
. Brice's idea of a medical journal. I poked around. The prescription pad separated in my hand into two pieces. I looked at the binding. It was coming apart in several spots. My thumb lifted the sheets, letting them fall as I scrolled through the pad. Wait a minute. Something was wrong. I flipped through a third time, just to make sure. The printed count was definitely off. Prescriptions were missing.

I froze at the sound of the door being pushed open. Brice walked into the room. His back was to me as he pulled off his blazer. The fully opened door kept me cornered behind the desk and prevented me from leaving the office. I couldn't do anything but quietly close the drawer and wait for him to turn
around. He pulled on the white exam coat and hung the blazer in its place. I reviewed my options. Nothing brilliant came to mind. I considered diving under the desk, but I was too tall.

Brice buttoned up the coat and turned. “What do you think you're doing?”

“Oh, good.” Yeah, this was great. Just terrific. “I was hoping I'd catch you . . . See, my doctor isn't in, and I had a nasty spill this morning. I thought maybe you could take a look at this bump on my head. Make sure it isn't anything serious.”

Brice didn't answer, his face utterly still. Finally, he straightened the collar of his coat. “I'm a cardiologist.”

Duh. I knew this. Everyone in town knew this. “Oh, right. I totally forgot. Could be the hit to the head.”

He didn't answer.

“Okay. Not a problem. Thanks anyway. See you.” Penny Lively, master of the exit strategy.

Brice stepped forward and blocked my way. He rested one hand on the bust of Hippocrates and smoothed his perfect salt-and-pepper hair with the other. Confidence glittered in his eyes. “You know, if I had reason to suspect you were going through my desk, I'd have a responsibility to report you to the authorities. I'm sure you understand my position.”

He expected his remarks to unnerve me and, for the life of me, I don't know why they didn't.

I thought of the prescription pad and took a gamble. “You know, if I had any reason to suspect you were using your position as a doctor for illegal and illicit purposes, I'd have a responsibility to report
you
to the authorities. I'm sure you understand my position.”

His face turned crimson, and I thought I was about to see a cardiologist have a heart attack. He tightened his grip on
the head of Hippocrates and squeezed until the blood drained from his hand. His fingertips were as white as the marble. With visible effort he let go, backed up, and pointed to the hall. “Get the hell out of my office.”

I pushed past him and made my way down the corridor. His door didn't close and there weren't footsteps, so I knew he stood watching me. From his reaction, I'd hit a nerve. Maybe it was just because I was in his office. Maybe his reaction had nothing to do with my comment. Maybe Brice had just lost the missing prescriptions. Maybe someone from over in rehab had taken the same walk I'd just finished and stolen them. Maybe.

W
HEN
I arrived home, Annie was leaving a message. Nanook recognized her voice and howled at the machine.

I grabbed up the phone and shouted over the noise, “Nanook says hello.”

“Let me say hi to him.”

I put the phone down and went to get him a biscuit, tossed it across the room, wiped off the phone and settled back into the couch.

“You know that little Maltese I've been treating for stomach problems? The one that could use a few more walks and a few less chicken livers? She was in today.”

“How's her mom?”

“Ivy's fine. She just started in on husband number four. A film producer.”

“Does she still own that winery up the river?”

“She sure does. A parting gift from husband number three. She told me something I knew you'd find interesting.”

“Give.” I kicked off my shoes, let Syrah curl into the corner of my arm and buried my feet in the warmth of Nanook's back.

“Peterson's Jewelry offered to let people drop off donations for the festival. If you're donating jewelry for the silent auction, you can leave it and Peterson's will clean it and get it ready. Anyway, Ivy was dropping off a bunch of stuff this afternoon, including those pearl studs I've always liked. I want to make a bid on those. I wonder if I have a chance. There will be hundreds—”

“What about Ivy?” I shifted Syrah to the other arm, grabbed a notepad and pen from the end table and wrote
low-fat cat food
.

“Oh. Well, you know Peterson's also buys old jewelry, estate stuff and all that. While she was in there, guess who came in to try and sell a necklace? Marvin Karp. She recognized him because Ivy's third husband had offered him a job as winery manger. Ivy said the piece he was trying to sell was really old, an antique, but when he saw her looking at it he shoved it into his pocket and left right away. He didn't even wait for Peterson to tell him what he thought it was worth.”

“Where would Marvin get something like that? He doesn't have any relatives I know of. He certainly doesn't have friends he could've been selling it for. Was she sure the piece was an antique?”

“Believe me,” Annie said, “if Ivy said it was an antique, it was. The one thing she knows is jewelry.”

A throbbing began behind my temples and I rubbed the back of my head. “Different subject. Let me tell you about my morning.”

Annie listened without interruption. “I can't believe someone hit you and I really can't believe Brice caught you in his office. Usually things like this happen to you when I'm there.”

“Be glad you weren't. What painkiller can I take with a head injury?”

“You realize you're asking your veterinarian for medical advice?”

“Come on, Annie. Don't answer like a doctor. Just give me your personal opinion.”

“Acetaminophen, ice pack and a nap with Nanook and Syrah.”

I followed her advice.

*   *   *

I
woke to the sound of Connor stacking wood in the fireplace. The long-handled lighter clicked in the semidarkness and outlined Connor's profile. He must have just come up from his quarters, because his hair was damp.

Pushing back the sleeves of his soft green flannel shirt, he added fire-starters made from wax-dipped pinecones. In the flickering light he looked tired. On a winery this was the busiest week of the year. If the weather held, this was also the most satisfying time to be a vintner. An entire year of work came down to a few crucial days of labor, harvest and love.

I sat up on the couch. My left arm was completely numb. “Ouch.” I pushed at Syrah and rubbed my shoulder.

Connor looked up. “You doing okay over there?”

“Just getting circulation back.”

The room filled with a rosy glow and the chill dispersed.

“Yum. Nice fire.”

“Hayley went out to dinner. I told her if she didn't take the night off, she was fired.”

“Good.” I moved Syrah off the quilt and shifted closer to the now-glowing warmth.

“I was going to make pasta and thought you might want some company.”

“The company sounds good but I'm not very hungry tonight.”

He pushed away from the fire and sat with his back against the couch, keeping his eyes on the flames.

My knee barely touched his shoulder.

“I can understand why you wouldn't necessarily have much of an appetite. You going to tell me what happened this morning?”

I didn't move. “How did you hear about this morning?”

“Lucas. Who do you think took Hayley to dinner? Asked me if you went to the hospital. I'm not sure why Hayley and I are finding out from the police you were ordered to go to the hospital. I had to promise Hayley I'd come back here to check on you. She wouldn't have gone out if I hadn't.” He glanced at me. “Not that checking on you wasn't something I would have done anyway.”

My cheeks warmed.

“You were asleep, so I decided to let you rest for a while. Why didn't you at least call?”

“You know we get lousy cell reception in the valley, and by the time I went to the hospital I knew I was okay. Besides, even if I'd tried from a landline, you were out in the vineyards.” It was weak even to my ears, but it was the best I could do. The reality was I'd been independent for so long it hadn't
really occurred to me he'd be concerned. Even with Hayley, having family around to worry about me was something new.

He pushed off the floor to sit on the couch and raised a hand to the back of my head, to the still-tender bump. My skin tingled, and not just on the back of my head.

“They got you pretty good.” He turned once again to the fire.

I had to strain to hear him.

“You think you can take care of yourself. Sometimes you can't. Sometimes the bad guy has the advantage. That's just the way it is. I'm sorry Todd's dead, but we need you here. Hayley needs you. This winery needs you.” He turned to look at me. “I need you. I don't know how we'd make it without you. Don't make us try.”

“I keep thinking if I'd been just a little sooner, I'd have been able to make a difference. Todd might still be here. I feel like I missed a chance that night. I don't want to miss my chance now.”

Connor nodded. “I figured as much. Even if you tried, you wouldn't stop thinking about it. You couldn't. So, the only suggestion I can give is to take care, Penny. Just take care.”

“I promise to be more careful. Thanks, Connor.”

He nodded then turned to hide a yawn.

“You must be exhausted. Do you have time for a full night's sleep?”

“This feels pretty good right here.”

He put a pillow behind his head and leaned back against the couch. He was asleep in five minutes. I covered him with the quilt and watched him sleep.

He was right. I couldn't just turn off the need to know what
happened that night, even if I wanted to. Insatiable curiosity. It was why I'd become a photojournalist. It was probably what was going to get me in trouble someday.

Because of my late nap I was wide-awake. I changed into my sweats and made some hot chocolate. I needed to get everything I'd learned about the Martinelli family down on paper. The motive for murder was at that winery, but I couldn't see all the connections. I turned over the shopping list headed by
low-fat cat food
and started writing.

Todd: 28. Victim. Ran tasting room at Martinelli Winery. Degree from San Luis Obispo in viniculture. Wanted to one day run a winery. Talented. Engaged to be married to Joanne.

It was hard to imagine anyone wanting him dead. Everyone liked Todd. No. I sat tapping the pencil. Not everyone. Was he pushing for Marvin's job? Did he fight Francesca for his mother's land? That light I'd seen return into the Martinelli house was pointing the way to someone who hadn't liked Todd very much at all.

Marvin Karp: 50ish. Manager of the Martinelli Winery. Good at his job but not well liked. Understands wine better than he understands people. Lives alone at the winery. Appears to know more than he is letting on. Spotted selling jewelry that would be unlikely for Marvin to own. Likes to gamble. Connection?

Todd was very good at his job and well liked. In addition, he had a degree and appeared to have settled into Martinelli
Winery for a long stay. Could Marvin have been threatened enough to kill Todd? There was a racing form and a Las Vegas mug on Marvin's desk. Did he need money? Where did the jewelry come from?

Chantal: 32. Long history of problems—alcohol, drugs. In rehab on numerous occasions at Kasey Recovery Clinic. Uses her extraordinary looks to attract men, even her brother-in-law. Per conversation, feels lonely, isolated from family. Angry. Appears to have been attracted to Todd but it turned into a close friendship.

I knew from Joanne that Chantal and Todd were only friends. Chantal told me the same. Did Todd find out it was Brice that Chantal was mixed up with? Could Chantal have been acting under the oaks that day and be protecting Brice? Even though she denied it, could Chantal have wanted more from Todd than to be friends? “Hell hath no fury . . .”

Francesca: 35. Chantal's older sister. Attorney. Lives in San Francisco. Acquired acreage from Todd's mother through dubious means. Smart, shrewd and tough if you get in her way. Went to Layton Law School but apparently failed to graduate, at least from there. Angry at Antonia for letting it be known Stephen would inherit winery. Concerned about two things: reputation and land ownership. Married to Brice.

Was Francesca angry enough at her mother to sabotage the winery? Did Todd catch her at it? Where was she yesterday morning? Did Todd know how Francesca got his mother's
land? Did he have proof? Would he have used it? Did he threaten to?

Stephen: 38. Brother to Francesca and Chantal. Martinelli heir. Protective of his family, especially his youngest sister, Chantal. Naturally uptight demeanor. Appears to feel the weight of responsibility for the winery heavily on his shoulders. Married to Veronica.

With his lack of personality and presence, what would Stephen do if he weren't running the family business? Todd was an asset to the winery. I couldn't see how Stephen benefited from Todd's death, and yet when I spoke with Stephen, he was clearly uncomfortable talking about the winery or about Todd.

Veronica: 35. Married to Stephen. Nervous and high-strung, a perfect partner for Stephen. Former nurse, now a winery matron. Protective of her husband's family. Involved in numerous clubs and organizations.

I thought about Veronica, in her pleated skirts and pearls. Veronica cared about what her husband cared about—namely, the winery and the Martinelli family. Once again, I couldn't see how Veronica could benefit from Todd's death.

Brice: 40. Married to Francesca. Cardiologist. Practices at both Kasey and in San Francisco. Perfect Armani suits. Perfect bedside manner. Admitted to by Chantal and confirmed by Francesca in her restaurant outburst, has been perfecting that bedside manner in far too many beds.

I didn't like him, but I couldn't think of any reason for him to kill Todd, unless there was some connection to Chantal. If Todd was Chantal's confidant, did she tell him about her affair with Brice? If he'd known, Todd might have confronted him.

The firelight was dying. I hadn't narrowed the list of suspects and didn't know more than when I'd begun. I closed my eyes. One thing I was sure of, the one thing that brought me back to the list of names before me . . . that flashlight as it disappeared into the Martinelli home.