"So they were David's pills that killed Chas—not Jenny's?"

  Alison nodded. "Unfortunately, the police pinned it on that girl." She shrugged. "But sacrifices have to be made."

  Anger pricked the back of my throat at the idea Jenny's freedom was a sacrifice Alison was willing to make. "She could get life in prison."

  "She was never going to amount to anything anyway. Look at her. She couldn't even keep an entry level job at Price Digital."

  "That's because Chas had her fired!" I blurted out in Jenny's defense.

  Alison raised one pale eyebrow in a perfect arch, her mouth curving into a smile. "Really? His own sister? Well, you see the man really didn't have any redeeming qualities. I did the world a favor."

  I had a feeling a few people would agree with her, but that didn't negate the fact she'd taken a life. Or that she was holding a gun on me. I took a shallow breath, reining in my emotion.

  "Why did you choose Xanax to kill Chas?" I asked.

  "Well, I knew Chas took them. On the sly." She paused. "He did other drugs too, you know."

  That, I did know. But I figured now was not the time to strengthen my smarty-pants image in her eyes. "Oh?" I asked.

  She nodded. "Cocaine. His tramp, Sadie Evans, got him hooked. I'd seen him coming home at all hours, high as a kite. Then he'd take his sister's Xanax to come down before facing Viv." She shook her head. "I almost thought I could just wait it out. With the dangerous cocktail he was taking, it was only a matter of time before he offed himself."

  "But you didn't want to wait?"

  Alison slowly shook her head. "I couldn't. He was going to ruin Vivienne. And I saw my chance with your party at the winery. Vivienne told me Chas would be driving in from the city from work—which I knew meant he was getting high with his tramp. Of course, he'd need to come down before the party, taking a couple Xanax. And I knew how Chas liked to drink. By the third glass, he wouldn't have blinked an eye at a slightly bitter taste in his Sirah." She paused again, a slow, wicked smile snaking across her face. "In fact, he didn't blink an eye. He just drank up."

  And died in my cellar.

  I shivered in the damp cold enveloping us. As much as Chas Pennington hadn't been much of a humanitarian, no one deserved to die that way.

  "What about Vivienne?" I asked. "Didn't you think she'd be devastated?"

  Alison narrowed her eyes at me, taking a step forward. "My daughter is my whole life. I've worked hard to give her every advantage. I've invested so much in that girl, made so many sacrifices. And then what does she do? She squanders her life on one worthless deadbeat after another."

  The fire in Alison's eyes was enough to scare the bejesus out of me, even if it hadn't had the power of a pistol behind it. As her monologue went on, I put my right hand behind my back, feeling along the rear of the car for anything I could use as a weapon against the increasingly agitated woman.

  "Lord knows, her first husband was no saint," she told me. "But I took care of him quickly enough."

  "Wait—took care?" I asked, suddenly wondering if Vivienne's first husband was in a bronze urn somewhere too.

  Alison smiled. "Relax, dear. He's alive and well. Well, alive anyway. Might have been more well if my daughter hadn't caught him with a prostitute and invoked the infidelity clause of their prenup. She left him with nothing." Her eyes were dark and hard again. "Bubbles was her name. Best hundred dollars I ever spent."

  I blinked, realizing just how unhinged Alison was. I was sure Vivienne had no idea her mother had broken up her first marriage. And she'd kept this secret all these years.

  "But Pennington," she went on, taking another step closer.

  I cringed as that muzzle was getting way too close for comfort. My fingers scrambled behind me, coming up against only smooth, firmly attached chrome.

  "Pennington was low rent," Alison continued. "A big step down for her. I was mortified when she announced their engagement. His father was a farmworker, for Pete's sake. I told her he was just a gold digger. But she wouldn't listen." Alison shook her head. "She was always like that, even as a girl. So stubborn. So, I had to step in."

  Like I feared she was stepping in now. Panic was building in my chest again, making my hands shake. I had to find a way out. And fast.

  "How did you get the Xanax into Chas's glass unnoticed?" I asked, not caring about the answer so much as prolonging the inevitable.

  "I simply crushed a few tablets." She paused. "Maybe more than a few. But I wanted to make sure they did the trick. No comfortable comas for Chas Pennington. He needed to be really, truly gone."

  I personally didn't see anything terrifically comfortable about a coma caused by drug overdose, but I didn't interrupt.

  "I made sure to wear my gloves that day—perfectly appropriate for an afternoon garden party, wouldn't you say?"

  I nodded. I had to concede, I hadn't thought a thing about it at the time.

  "All the better to keep prints off the glasses. I poured myself a glass of the Sirah, then slipped into the ladies' room with it and emptied the Xanax powder into the glass. It changed the color just slightly, but after stirring it with a straw, it was close enough that I knew my inebriated son-in-law wouldn't notice."

  "And you just handed him the tainted wine?"

  "Everybody was going from table to table, socializing. I found Chas sitting alone at the family table. His speech was already slurred when I handed it to him. Told him Vivienne poured it for him."

  So Jenny's prints on the glass had really been an accident. I could easily see her touching it at the family's table, maybe even to move it further from her brother's reach as the night wore on and he became increasingly drunk.

  "You didn't worry about anyone finding the glass later?" I asked.

  "Why would I?" she said, her forehead creasing in a frown. "No one could trace anything back to me. The prescription was David's. The wineglass wasn't mine. And the Sirah was yours, dear." She flashed that wicked smile at me again, and I felt a surge of anger that she was fine with me and Oak Valley playing scapegoat in her plan.

  "Was it you who hit me on the head too?" I asked, anger making me bold.

  She shook her head, tsking between her teeth. "Brackston was happy to help me with that little problem. As soon as you mentioned the name of that greedy little pawnbroker to me at the Links, I knew you were in danger of getting too close. At least to knowing about Vivienne covering Chas's embezzling. Imagine if her board had gotten hold of that? Not to mention that vampire, Sadie Evans."

  She was right. That I found out about Chas's theft, at least. Though, contrary to Alison's assumptions, I'd had no intention of making that information public. Not everyone was a blackmailer.

  Or killer, I thought, realizing Alison's patience was wearing thin as she took another step toward me.

  I tried to take one backwards, but I was pinned against the car.

  "And now, you need to go," Alison told me.

  That panic in my chest turned into full-blown fear, adrenaline coursing through my veins like fire.

  No weapons. No backup. I was on my own. And it was now or never.

  I took a deep breath, sucking in courage I wasn't sure I had. "There's just one thing you didn't count on," I told her, false bravado filling my voice.

  She frowned. "What, pray tell, is that?"

  "That!" I shouted, pointing to the empty field behind her.

  On instinct, she turned to look.

  Which was exactly what I'd been hoping she'd do. I took her split second of inattention and leapt forward, shoving my right shoulder into her with all my might.

  She cried out, falling backward, her hands going behind her to catch her fall.

  But I didn't stick around to see if she was okay, taking off at a dead sprint in the other direction, hoping I could dissolve into the darkness before Alison was able to regain her footing. Or aim.

  My feet pounded on the hard ground, arms pumping. I felt brambles and vines scrape at my arms and face, but I didn't stop, running blindly. I followed the straight row to the end of the field, only then zigzagging into another row. I had no idea where I was going or how long it would be before I saw something resembling civilization and safety, but I kept running.

  I vaguely heard the sound of a car behind me and had the sudden horrible vision of Alison Price mowing me down in a vineyard, taking out an entire crop of Chardonnay grapes along with me. I resisted the urge to stop, turn around, and see how close she was. I knew every second counted, and I needed to keep moving.

  While I wasn't exactly a couch potato, I wasn't in marathon shape either. My thighs burned, and my calves threatened to cramp up. My head pounded with each step I took, the ache wearing on me. I pushed harder, pumping my arms for all they were worth, knowing I was on borrowed time. I couldn't run forever. And sooner or later, that car motor I could hear in the distance would catch up to me.

  As if on cue, the sounds of gunfire cracked through the night.

  I ducked instinctively, though I had no idea if the bullet came anywhere near me. I couldn't see the direction it had come from. I heard the car now idling, and I knew she was out there. How close? That was anyone's guess.

  I felt like my lungs were on fire when I finally saw a break in the fields ahead. Lights appeared and disappeared behind a row of tall trees. Headlights.

  A road.

  I pushed forward with a final sprint of energy, practically throwing myself through the grove of trees as I heard another shot—this time unmistakably closer.

  I still wasn't sure where I was, but headlights came toward me on a paved road. I waved my arms in front of me like a mad woman, hailing the driver.

  At first I almost thought he didn't see me and would plow me down. But at the last second, he swerved right, pulling up against the embankment. His drivers' side window rolled down, and he leaned an elbow out.

  "You okay, miss?" a guy in a trucker hat asked.

  I could have kissed him. "Call…9-1-1," I panted.

  As his hands reached for his cell, my legs collapsed, the relief too great for them to hold me upright anymore.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The next hour went by in a blur of police arriving, taking statement after statement, paramedics being called to check on my latest head wound, and the dazed driver of the pickup that had been my knight in rusted armor telling the police that I "Just came from nowhere. All crazed and such."

  Alison Price was nowhere to be seen by then, but I was sure she couldn't go far. She was a Price. It wasn't like they just blended in.

  I was giving my statement to another uniformed officer for the third time, when I spied a familiar face making his way through the growing crowd of law enforcement and emergency personnel.

  Grant.

  A lesser woman would have thrown herself into his strong arms the moment he was in sight. Me? I waited until he was standing right in front of me to collapse into his open embrace.

  His broad shoulders pillowed my face as all those tears of fear, regret, anger, and pure exhaustion I'd been holding back poured out in the safety of his flannel shirt. In that moment, I felt as if his arms could hold me up against any storm—or crazy baby boomer with a gun. I never wanted him to let me go, but eventually he must have felt the wet spot I was making on his shoulder, and he leaned me back to look at my face.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper. The enticing intimacy of it sent shivers down my spine.

  I nodded, not sure I trusted my voice.

  "I mean, really okay?" he pressed, his eyes intent.

  I stopped nodding. And shook my head.

  "Oh, Emmy." He pulled me in for another fierce hug.

  A girl could get used to this.

  "What happened?" he finally asked.

  I pulled back, took a fortifying breath, and told him about the whole scary ordeal, from the bash on the head to the trunk to Alison's confessions. His face was hard and unreadable the entire time, giving away nothing of his emotion or any hint at how much of Alison's guilt he'd already known about.

  When I finally finished the story with my trucker savior, Grant asked, "And you knew all along that she was behind Chas's death?"

  "Not really," I confessed. "I mean, some of it I had worked out. Like the poker games and the embezzling. But I was as surprised as you were to find out she was Chas's killer."

  He stared at me, his expression unreadable. And it dawned on me.

  "You aren't surprised, are you?"

  He let out a deep sigh. "Not entirely. We traced the attack on you the other night back to Brackston. Forensics was able to lift a partial latent fingerprint from the rock he used. We were questioning him during the memorial, and while he hadn't broken down yet, I had a feeling that someone in the Price-Pennington household had put him up to it."

  "I thought it was David," I told him sheepishly.

  "Truth?"

  I nodded.

  "I did too for awhile."

  "So he really is innocent?"

  Grant nodded. "At least of this. Cheating at poker? That might be another issue, but I'll leave that to vice if they want to pursue the illegal poker games."

  "Will they?" I asked, feeling a bit stronger talking it all out with Grant.

  "Doubtful. Too many powerful people were at those games. My best guess? It will all be swept under the rug."

  I nodded. I supposed I shouldn't be surprised. And really, it paled in comparison with murder.

  "Can I take you home?" Grant asked.

  I sent him a smile, the first genuine one I'd felt in what seemed like forever. "I thought you'd never ask."

  * * *

  Grant dropped me off at my cottage, making sure I made it inside the door before being a gentleman and promising to check in on me the following day. I gratefully collapsed onto my bed, falling asleep fully clothed and not waking again until the sun was high above the horizon. I moved slowly, every limb in my body feeling sore and overexerted. I took the hottest shower known to woman, and dressed in a pair of comfortable pink sweats and an old T-shirt with a picture of Mickey Mouse on it. I checked my phone and saw I had two messages from Grant already. That put a little smile on my face as I made my way toward the scent of coffee in the kitchen.

  I spent the rest of the morning simultaneously being fed, coddled, and interrogated by Conchita and Hector about the events of the previous evening. By noon, Ava got in on the action, pulling up in her convertible just as I was considering getting to work. Somehow she convinced me that a bottle of Australian Shiraz and a pint of mint chip were a better idea, and we spent the rest of the afternoon on my sofa, with Thelma, Louise, and Bridget Jones, being grateful for the little things like good wine, chocolate ice cream, and best friends.

  * * *

  It was the following Friday, and Gene Schulz was smiling as he stood in my office. I could hardly believe what he was telling me, and his seesaw hands were held dead level. Well, almost level. They still tilted a little in the downward direction, but as he beamed about the good press Alison Price's arrest had gotten and how happy his investors were to be backing the "Heroine of Wine Country" who had "single-handedly (at least according to Bradley Wu) caught a killer," his mega-white smile didn't falter a beat.

  According to the latest article in the Sonoma Index-Tribune, the police had caught up to Alison at the airport, as she'd tried to charter a private plane to Oaxaca, Mexico. Luckily Alison had still been driving Conchita's car, which was thankfully returned to her unharmed. While Alison had vehemently denied any wrongdoing at first, the papers were reporting that they expected her lawyer to put in an insanity plea. I had to agree—that woman was off her rocker.

  Vivienne Price-Pennington had declined any comments to the press about the entire affair, quickly leaving the country for Belize, ostensibly to spread Chas's ashes. But I'd heard from Ava, who'd heard it from her father's cleaning lady, that the Price-Pennington estate had been closed up indefinitely. Valuables had been sent to storage, the furniture covered in thick, white sheets, and the staff let go. It didn't appear as if Vivienne had any intention of returning. I didn't blame her. The hodgepodge style mansion on the hill probably held too many bad memories.

  According to Schultz, despite her mother's guilt, Vivienne was still the one footing the bill for Alison's very expensive defense attorney. I could only imagine how conflicted Vivienne's feelings must be toward the woman who doted on her, being that she'd also been the one to kill the love of her life. I had no idea if she'd spoken to Alison, but she was fulfilling her daughterly duty from afar.

  Vivienne had scarcely been gone a day before Sadie had assumed the role of CEO at Price Digital. Apparently unaffected by the entire situation, Sadie had made lemon-tinis out of lemons, promising to restructure the entire accounting procedures and seemingly covering any misdeeds by Chas in the process—either knowingly or unknowingly. While Sadie might not be shedding a tear of grief over Chas's demise, it looked as though she knew as well as Vivienne that a scandal would only hurt the company—which she still had eyes on taking over.

  After being officially cleared of any wrongdoing and having all charges against her dropped, Jenny had decided to move back to Arizona with her parents for a fresh start. As it turned out, Chas's estate had consisted mostly of the jewelry and gifts he'd accumulated from Vivienne, all of his liquid assets having previously gone to pay off his debts. The last of which Jenny took care of by handing the keys to Chas's bright yellow Lamborghini over to Fast Money Trask. She said Trask was so delighted at having the debt repaid, he even gave Jenny a good deal on selling Chas's Rolex, along with some other jewelry and valuables, in his pawn shop. At least good enough that Jenny said she had enough to build a new life for herself in Arizona, where she could be close to her remaining family.

 

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