Ava slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out her wallet. She extracted a credit card.

  "Oh, not Nordstrom!" I told her.

  "You're right." She nodded, putting it back and pulling out a Chevron gas card. "This is safer." She approached the back door, trying to slip the card into the crack between the door and the frame. She jiggled, wiggled, and coaxed. Her tongue protruded from the corner of her mouth at the effort.

  "Any luck?" I asked, shifting from one antsy foot to the other.

  "I'm sure this is how they did it on Midsomer Murders the other day…" she mumbled, more to herself than to me.

  It must have looked easier on TV than it was in real life, as about ten minutes in she stood and shook her head. "Sorry. I don't think this is going to work. It's locked up tight." As if to illustrate her point, she put her hand on the knob to the back door and twisted.

  And it turned with ease.

  Ava blinked, her eyes shooting to mine.

  Mental forehead thunk. "It was unlocked the whole time?"

  "Huh," she said. "I guess I never thought to check it."

  Honestly, I hadn't either. Let's face it, we were not Charlie's Angels. More like the two stooges.

  "Come on. Let's get this over with before James comes home," I said, leading the way inside.

  Under-counter lights had been left on, the glow giving us just enough light to make out that we were in the kitchen, and that kitchen was fabulous. The counters were marble, the cabinets high gloss white and glass, and the appliances stainless steel and expensive. I might have salivated just a little bit when my gaze fell on the built-in espresso machine, but Ava grabbed my arm, pulling me along and preventing me from running my hands lovingly over it.

  "Emmy, put your gloves on," she hissed.

  "What? I didn't bring gloves," I replied.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You just said to wear black, bring a flashlight and comfy shoes. You never said anything about gloves!"

  "I figured you would have known to bring gloves to a break and enter," she replied, rather sarcastically, if I may say so.

  "What do I do?" I asked.

  "Stay still, and don't touch anything. I'll see if I can find any." Ava made her way across the room as I wiped the door handle clean with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

  The creaking of a cupboard door echoed in the semidarkness before Ava flicked her flashlight on and started a checklist of things found under Heather's sink. "Oven cleaner, dishwasher detergent, scouring pads." Ava huffed. "As if Heather ever used any of this stuff. Ah. Here we go."

  She stood and smiled, returning to me with a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves.

  "Really?" I asked.

  "What else did you think I was going to find under the kitchen sink? Versace?"

  I took them from her. "I guess they're better than nothing," I said, pushing my fingers into the rubber sheaths.

  "So, where do we start?" Ava asked, eyes going to a hallway that led off the kitchen.

  "Your guess is as good as mine. Ground floor?"

  Ava nodded in the darkness, swinging her flashlight down the hall and leading the way.

  Three doors later we knew that the downstairs of the Atherton home housed a guest bathroom, a home gym, a music room, and a lavish living room. Finally at the front of the house, we entered a pair of French doors that housed what looked like a home office. And from the feminine décor and floral pattern on the drapes, I had a suspicion it was Heather's and not her husband's.

  I took a moment to slow my breathing as we closed the doors behind us.

  Ava moved toward the desk and flicked the lamp on.

  "Should we have that light on?" I asked, eyes cutting to the windows.

  "It'll make our job so much quicker," she commented.

  "But what if someone on the street notices it?" Anyone passing by on the road could see the light.

  "They'll think nothing of it. Our flashlights zipping around might be a different story though."

  That was actually a good point. I hurriedly flicked my flashlight off and allowed my gaze to roam the room.

  "This is a pretty nice office," Ava commented, her gaze following mine.

  She was right. Mahogany cabinets matched the glossy desk, which held nothing but a small desktop computer, keyboard, and mouse. Behind it on the wall was a large framed painting reminding me of a Monet. Several bottles of red wine were displayed on the glass shelving that sat alongside it, and a set of dusty footprints were embedded in the white plush carpet that made their way to the desk, only stopping beneath Ava.

  Crap.

  "Ava! Your shoes," I almost screamed.

  She looked down, and even in the dim light I could see that her face paled. "Oh no. I kind of remember stepping in the flower beds while we were looking for a key."

  "What should we do?" I asked, horrified. Here we were trying to be sneaky, and Ava's size sixes would lead anyone to the exact spot we were snooping in.

  "You start looking through the files. I'll see if I can find the vacuum." Ava slipped her boots off and retraced her steps. As she opened the door and looked up the hall, I heard her say. "And the mop."

  I shook my head as I sidestepped the footprints.

  I started with the paper files in a cabinet behind the desk, but all they held were boring insurance and tax forms. A few photos adorned the shelves, but most were of Heather herself. Clearly she was her favorite subject.

  I made my way to the computer.

  The high-backed leather chair was sumptuous and soft as I sank into it and pulled the keyboard close. Hitting the Return button a couple of times, the screen came to life, asking for a password. I tried a few of the obvious choices—her husband's name, Cole's name, Linkslady. The rubber gloves made my fingers clumsy, and after a dozen or so attempts, I sat back and tried to think.

  The sound of a vacuum cleaner retracing our steps from the kitchen filled the still evening air, and it made my stomach clench. I really hoped that sound didn't travel too far and make the neighbors question why James was doing housework at this hour. As Ava made her way into the room, frantically rubbing the vacuum cleaner head over her dirty footprints, I did my best to ignore her and started opening desk drawers.

  Paper clips, sticky pads, stapler. All standard home office stuff. In the third drawer down, I found a small leather-bound book that looked like a diary. I pulled it out, thinking there was no way I was going to get that lucky.

  I was right. It was not a diary but a book of passwords. Which was almost as helpful, as I moved back to the keyboard and typed in WINSTON. Suddenly the screen came to life, and I was confronted with Heather's cluttered computer desktop.

  "Who's Winston?" Ava asked, switching the vacuum off and wiping her forehead with her sleeve.

  "No idea." I shrugged, distracted by the dozens of files that appeared. Allowing my eyes to quickly scan their names, I stopped on the one labeled Client Files and moved my mouse so that the cursor was over the top of it. Two clicks later I had an array of files in front of me, each labeled with names of clients. I pulled my phone from my pocket and took a photo of the screen. A few of the names were familiar—ones Jennifer had rattled off to us at the Links. Some I'd heard around town. Some were new.

  "Check some of the other files," suggested Ava, leaning on the vacuum handle. "I'm sure I saw one marked Inventory. Maybe we can see what kind of price tag was on these bottles."

  Clicking back, I found the file that she was referring to and opened it.

  "Whoa." Scanning the ledger, I noted some of the prices that Heather was selling bottles for, and just how many sales she was processing.

  "That's an enormous amount of money," said Ava.

  I had to agree. I had a fleeting thought of a career change as I noted the amounts Heather had been selling bottles for. Several were marked as being acquired at Dixons, which I recognized as a local auction house. I quickly took a snapshot of the screen using my camera phone. "But James said he was bailing her out," I remembered.

  "These are just the amounts she sold for," Ava pointed out. "We don't know what she acquired for. Or what her commissions were. Maybe her net wasn't making ends meet?"

  I nodded. "It's possible." I mean, we had inventory at the winery, but that didn't mean we were making a profit off it currently.

  "There's one marked Bank Statements," commented Ava, pointing to one of the file icons.

  I opened it, and we scanned copies of bank statements that were listed chronologically. I clicked on the latest one.

  "Check out that balance." It was well into the six figures. Bordering on seven.

  "And check out the name of the bank," Ava said, pointing to the screen.

  I squinted at the logo on the top of the statement. The title Cayman Trust was listed above an address in the Cayman Islands.

  "An offshore bank account," I mused.

  "I've heard of people having those, but I didn't think it was a real thing," Ava said.

  "And this account is in Heather's name only," I added.

  Ava raised her eyebrows at me. "Maybe Heather's little hobby wasn't doing as badly as her husband thought."

  "You think she was keeping this account secret from him?" I asked.

  "It's possible. And I imagine he wouldn't be too happy if he found out about it."

  "Especially if Heather was talking about leaving him," I added. "But would he be unhappy enough to kill her?"

  Ava didn't answer. Instead she gripped my shoulder tightly.

  "Did you see that?" she said, her voice suddenly going to a whisper.

  "What?"

  "Lights. Coming up the driveway."

  "Seriously?" I asked, my heart jumping into my throat.

  "Seriously," Ava squeaked.

  I hurriedly shut down the files that I had open. Trouble was, I had a lot of them, and my fingers had gotten clumsier as perspiration within the gloves was now at maximum saturation. Ava grabbed her boots and clicked off the desk lamp.

  By the time I put the computer into sleep mode and darkness filled the room, I heard the sickening sound of the front door opening and two sets of feet entering the house.

  Uh-oh.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I listened in horror as Spencer's tiny voice filled the air, talking in an excited chatter about the play. I checked my watch. Dang. They must have left early.

  "What are we going to do?" hissed Ava.

  I had no idea, but considering Spencer's voice was getting closer by the second, I figured whatever it was, we were going to have to do it soon.

  "Try the window?" I suggested, my voice only just above a whisper.

  "It's too small," Ava replied.

  Shoot.

  "Did you clean up all your footprints?" I asked.

  "Yes. I mopped the hallway and kitchen. And, might I just add, that it wasn't really that clean to begin with."

  Now didn't feel like a great time to discuss the cleaning abilities of James and his housekeeper.

  "You put everything away, right?"

  "Sure. Everything but that vacuum over there."

  "We need to put it back where it came from!" Panic was forming in my belly, making me feel ill.

  "How?" she asked.

  "We can't leave it there! James'll know that someone has been here."

  "Maybe he'll blame the housekeeper. She is pretty bad at her job."

  I sighed and tried to slow my thoughts.

  "They have no reason to come in here," I said, attempting rationality. "So we should just sit quietly and wait it out."

  "That's your plan?" Ava hissed back.

  "Dad!" Spencer's voice called. "Can I use the computer?"

  My heart actually stopped beating for a moment.

  "You need to have a shower first," James's voice boomed. "After that you can have half an hour on it."

  I silently thanked the lords. James may have been a terrible husband and maybe even a murderer, but at least he was a half decent father.

  "Awww, Dad," complained Spencer.

  "Don't whine, Spencer. The faster you have your shower, the sooner you can be playing your game."

  I had my ear pressed to the door, when the sound of Spencer's feet came stomping up the hallway toward us. James seemed to be following him. As they passed the office door, I heard Spencer's voice loud and clear.

  "Can you smell that, Dad?"

  "I can't smell anything," James replied.

  "It smells like ladies' perfume."

  My gaze shot to Ava. She did a palms-up shrug.

  "Are you wearing perfume?" I whispered.

  She nodded. "Always."

  I closed my eyes. I counted to ten. I tried not to think about how bad I'd look in prison orange.

  "You have an overactive imagination, Spence," I heard James answer his son.

  "No I don't. It smells like cotton candy."

  "Your friend Connor was eating cotton candy at the play tonight. You probably got some on you."

  "Maybe," Spencer said, his voice much quieter. "Do you have any candy here, Dad?"

  "Nope, I don't. And it's nearly your bedtime. You can't eat candy at this time of night…"

  The voices faded as the sound of footsteps on the stairs took their place. Within seconds, Spencer's stomping on the floorboards above my head told me that Ava and I had a small window of opportunity.

  "We gotta get outta here," Ava whispered.

  Truer words were never said. I opened the door a crack and peered into the hallway. The sound of running water competed with the sounds of Spencer and James arguing about his bedtime routine. Spencer was trying his hardest to convince James that Leah allowed him an hour on the computer every night, but James was having a hard time believing him. I gave Spence full points for trying.

  Tiptoeing into the hall, Ava followed close behind me. I had my eye on the entry into the kitchen, hoping to retrace our steps, when Spencer's squeals echoed loud and clear.

  "Get back here, Spencer!" James bellowed. "And do as you're told."

  "I want to find Winston first. He needs me."

  I spun to Ava as the upstairs footsteps pounded their way back toward us, and within seconds Spencer's giggles bounded down the stairs. I grabbed the handle to the nearest room, pushed the door open, and Ava and I flung ourselves inside, just in time.

  "Where is he, Dad? Where's Winston?"

  Ignoring the commotion that was going on in the hallway, I squinted against the darkness and tried to remember which room this was. Turns out it was the home gym.

  Ava had moved ahead of me, making her way across the room, hopefully searching for a way out of there.

  "There might be a door leading to the pool," she whispered.

  I hurried to follow her, but my toe caught on something metal. I tripped and fell, my hands outstretched into the darkness, willing something to stop my fall. I made contact with what I could only think was a bench holding weights. Momentum had the better of me, and I crash landed, a dozen or so weights rolling off the bench before bouncing off the floor around me. The sound boomed through the darkness, and I held back my scream when one of the weights hit my toe. Sneakers didn't offer much protection against a ten-pound dumbbell.

  Even though it was dark, I could feel Ava freeze. "Emmy?" she whispered once the last weight stopped rolling across the floor. "Are you okay?"

  I heroically held my tongue as pain shot up my leg. "I think I've broken my toe," I cried, quietly.

  "Spencer! Was that you?" James yelled.

  "No! It came from the gym."

  James's footsteps pounded down the hallway. "Go upstairs and wait in your room. I'll check it out," he commanded.

  "But, Dad, I need to find Winston. What if he's hurt?"

  "Spencer, go now!" James's voice was panicked as he commanded Spencer to safety.

  My heart pounded to a point where stars danced in front of my eyes, but I knew I had only seconds to move. Ava rushed toward me, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet.

  "Move!" she hissed.

  I did as asked and hobbled across the room, where she grabbed my arm, pulling me quickly inside a small wooden sauna that was almost as cramped as my shower.

  The sound of the turning handle on the door overtook the pounding in my ears, and we crouched down below the window. I'd just tucked myself into a tight ball when the light flicked on, and the sound of James's deep breathing filled the air.

  Through a crack in the wooden slats, I saw him scan the room, the shiny barrel of his handgun reflecting the overhead fluorescent light that he had flicked on.

  "Who's there?" he demanded.

  For a second, tense silence filled the air.

  Then a large black cat with a long tail jumped out from behind the leg press toward James.

  I stifled a cry of surprise, not sure my heart could take much more tonight.

  "Winston!" James let out a long breath and dropped the gun to his side. "Of course it was only you."

  Whoever said that black cats were unlucky was sorely mistaken. James picked up the feline, scratching him behind the ears as he turned back toward the hallway and shut the gym door behind him.

  I breathed freely for the first time since I'd heard James and Spencer arrive, and Ava and I tumbled clumsily out of the cramped sauna.

  "I found the door to the pool," she whispered, pointing to the far corner.

  Thank God for small favors. "Let's get out of here, Lacey."

  * * *

  By morning I could tell my toe wasn't broken, just very bruised. Thank goodness. But that didn't help the pain to be any less. I quickly showered and dressed in a pair of jeans and a couple of layered tank tops, and hobbled to the kitchen in search of food.

  "Good morning, Emmy," Conchita sang, already elbow deep in a large ball of dough on the floured counter.

  "It might be," I said, peeking over her shoulder. "What's that?"

  "It's about to be fresh wild blueberry muffins."

  I raised an eyebrow her way. "Where did you get the fresh wild blueberries?" I asked, knowing full well that had not been on my necessities grocery list.

  "Eddie brought them!" She smiled at me.

  "Eddie?"

  "The new wine manager?"