I'd completely forgotten about happy, incompetent Eddie starting today. "Is it Monday already?" I asked, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

  "All day!" Conchita confirmed cheerfully.

  "So, Eddie brought blueberries. Anything else I should know about our new recruit?"

  Conchita pursed her lips together, kneading dough with a force. "He seems very nice. Cheerful. Quite a snappy dresser." She paused. "I think he might be gay," she informed me.

  I smiled. "You think?"

  She shrugged. "Not that it matters. The world needs all kinds."

  I smiled, sipping my coffee. All I hoped about Eddie was that he was the quick-to-catch-on kind.

  Two hours later, I'd shown Eddie the bottling line, the barrels, the filtration system, and the ancient labeling machine that was still churning on a wing and a prayer. And maybe a little duct tape.

  Eddie chatted nonstop the entire tour, and I felt lucky to get a word in edgewise. By the time we were finished, I knew that Curtis had been sneaking bacon and eggs for breakfast, when the doctors had specifically insisted on oatmeal, that their Pomeranian named Winky was due for a vet visit, and that Eddie's mother lived in Palm Springs and was having cataract surgery on Thursday. Whether Eddie had retained anything I'd said, I didn't know. But he gave me a confident smile and a happy wave as I left, assuring me, "Don't worry! I'm in charge of everything!"

  That was exactly what I was worried about.

  I left Eddie checking the labels as they spat out of the machines, ensuring that each one was straight, secure, and unsmudged. Our new design had been Hector's idea, and I loved it. The gorgeous gold scrolled font of our name and the foiled oak barrel that sat beneath it filled me with pride, almost as much as the contents of the bottle.

  We just needed people to buy it.

  I held on to that thought as I ducked into my office. First thing I did was try calling Leah again. As with the day before, it went to voicemail. I hoped she was just screening again and not in trouble. Grant wouldn't have arrested her without giving me a heads-up, would he? My fingers itched to call Grant just to be sure, but his standard "stay out of trouble" lecture practically rang in my ears, forcing me away from my phone and toward the pile of orders and receipts on my desk. Unfortunately, the receipts outweighed the orders, and I could just see Schultz's hands doing his infamous seesaw of debts to assets, dipping down low in the assets direction.

  Maybe I really should think about selling those vintage bottles in the cellar. My mind wandered back to the prices Heather had been getting for her sales. I didn't think what I had in the cave was anywhere near in the same league, but it could at least help pay for a new bottle washer.

  Telling myself it was at least halfway for professional reasons, I pulled up the photos I'd taken the night before of Heather's client lists. I scrolled through, checking each one against the guest list at our Wine and Chocolate party. There were several overlaps, which I checked against the inventory lists, matching bottles to names. It looked like Heather acquired bottles for her clients more often than selling their collections. She must have had some good connections at Dixons, as many of the vintages listed were quite old and rare. I knew private collections and lots came up now and then, but she'd been lucky to acquire so many so fast.

  Unfortunately, I didn't see any discrepancies that I could see a client arguing with Heather over. The names of the bottles she'd sold looked like they'd been priced perfectly, according to the info I could find online. Possibly even a bit low, to Heather's credit. I couldn't imagine anyone being unhappy with the deals she'd brokered.

  I sat back in my chair, feeling deflated. If Heather had been arguing with a client last week, nothing on this list was giving me a clue as to who it could have been or what it had been about.

  Of course, if everything I was seeing here was true, it also meant James had lied to me about how bad Heather was at business. Or, Heather had lied to James.

  James had said he'd put up the capital for Heather to start her business. If she'd taken that and turned it into the type of figures we'd seen in her bank account, James might have laid some claim to it. Heck, if Heather had wanted a divorce, the community property law in California meant he'd be legally entitled to half of it. Of course, he'd have to know it existed first, and being in the Cayman Islands would have cloaked it well. But if James had stumbled upon the account somehow and realized what Heather was up to, I could only imagine he might not be too happy. It was great motive to want her gone. Close to seven figures of motive.

  I thought of the James-Cole-Heather love triangle and wondered if Heather really had been planning to leave her husband for the hot golfer. Of course, there was the other love triangle of Cole-Heather-Caroline playing out at the Links club. Or, maybe more accurately, in the garden sheds. Which meant we had intersecting triangles? I was never very good at geometry. But I knew it was a mess, and Cole seemed to be at the heart of it. And if anyone knew if Heather was really planning to leave her husband, it would be him.

  I closed the photos on my phone, switching screens and dialing a familiar number.

  "Hey, it's Emmy. Care for a drink at the Links?"

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  David Allen was in the lounge, sipping on what appeared to be a scotch on the rocks as I approached. "Well, there's my favorite winemaker turned amateur sleuth," he said, giving me a small salute as I took the chair beside him.

  "Thanks for putting me on the list again," I said.

  "Anytime. Drink?" he asked, raising his own glass.

  While that had originally been my cover, I declined. "I'm not really a whiskey before five o'clock kind of gal."

  He shot me a lopsided grin then leaned in close. "It's apple juice," he confessed. "I've got a card game later, and I'd like those two gentleman to think I'm sloshed." He gestured to a couple of guys in polo shirts and slacks, chatting in club chairs near the window.

  I shook my head. "Sneaky."

  "Smart," he corrected, sipping his juice. "Who's your prey today, Ems?"

  "Cole. Have you seen him around?"

  He nodded. "I have. In fact, he just finished a lesson with a buxom brunette a few minutes ago. If you're lucky, you can catch him before the three p.m. cougar makes her appearance."

  I glanced at the clock. I had about five minutes. "Thanks," I said, quickly leaving the lounge for the pro shop.

  Luckily, as I approached, it appeared I'd beaten the cougar, as Cole was idly leaning on the glass counter and staring off into space as I walked up.

  "Hi, Cole," I greeted him.

  It took a moment for recognition to flash, but when it did, he gave me a professional smile. "Right. Ava Barnett's friend."

  I tried not to let my ego take a hit at being known as "the friend."

  "Emmy Oak," I supplied.

  "Of course, Emmy." He shot me his megawatt smile. "How lovely to see you again. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

  "I was wondering if I could chat with you about your clients."

  His smile faltered for a second, but he quickly pulled it back up. "I'm not sure I can help you. Client confidentiality, you know."

  I was pretty sure that only extended to lawyers and doctors, and not golfers, but I let it go.

  "Heather Atherton. You spent a lot of time with her, right?"

  "She booked several lessons, yes. We've been over that."

  We had. And the beating around the bush hadn't gotten me very far then. I decided to try the direct approach this time. "You mentioned before that Heather didn't get along with her husband."

  He cleared his throat. "Did I?"

  I nodded. "Was she planning to leave him?"

  "Why on earth do you think I would know that?" he asked.

  "Because she was leaving him for you," I told him point-blank.

  He let out a sharp bark of laughter. "That's preposterous."

  "Is it?" I challenged. "You were sleeping with her."

  "I was her golf instructor," he said, his charming smile growing thin. "Nothing more."

  "Right," I said, heavy on the sarcasm. "Just like with Caroline."

  The smile died altogether. "I'm sorry. Who?"

  "Caroline Danvers," I reminded, though I was pretty darn sure he remembered her. "She is a client of yours, correct?"

  Cole licked his lips, holding his gaze steady on mine. "Yes."

  "Does she have daily lessons too? You know, the kind Heather took?"

  His cheeks went just a shade paler under his tan. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure what you mean."

  "Oh, come off it, Cole. I saw you with her yesterday."

  His expression froze in place. "You must be mistaken. Caroline has lessons on Thursdays."

  "You were in the shed behind the gardens." I gave him a knowing grin. "You and I both know I'm not mistaken."

  He threw his shoulders back and sucked in a deep breath, flaring his nostrils with the effort. "I think you should leave, Ms. Oak."

  "So you're denying it?" I challenged.

  "Both Heather Atherton and Caroline Danvers are married women," he said.

  "Not for long if Heather was leaving her husband. Was that the plan, Cole?"

  "Are you even a member here?" he countered instead of answering.

  I jutted my chin forward. "I could be."

  "But you're not," he said, all the charm and twinkle gone from his eyes.

  Then he leaned into my personal space, his voice suddenly low and taking on a menacing edge. "I'd be careful who you go around accusing of such things, Ms. Oak. You could end up getting hurt."

  My heart leapt into my throat, and I sucked in a breath. I was still processing the threat as he stood back, glanced at a point above my head, and his beaming smile returned to his face.

  "Mrs. Foxton," he called.

  I looked over my shoulder to find Jennifer Foxton standing in the doorway to the pro shop. For the first time since I'd met her, she was not dressed in a power suit—instead sporting a short white skirt and matching polo shirt that almost looked like a uniform. Her eyes went from Cole to me in a way that made it clear she'd witnessed at least part of our exchange. How much, I had no idea.

  "Ready to hit the driving range?" Cole asked her breezily.

  "Uh, yes." Jennifer's politician's wife smile slipped into place as she approached us, though whether it was for my benefit or Cole's, I wasn't sure.

  Cole didn't so much as give me a backward glance as he took her arm and led her out onto the fairway.

  I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding as he stepped from sight. While I knew confronting him head-on with the accusation of his sleeping around was a risk, I'd honestly felt relatively safe in the brightly lit, well populated Links club. That had disappeared the second he'd invaded my personal space. For all his charm and tanned gorgeousness, Cole had a hard side. One I wondered if Heather had been unlucky enough to see. I suddenly wondered how much Cole knew about Heather's business. Did he know she had a fat bank account in the Cayman Islands waiting for her? If he did, I wondered how upset he'd get if, at the last minute, something had happened to change Heather's mind about leaving her husband for him. Had Heather decided to stick with her safe bet, leaving Cole out in the cold?

  My mind ran over possibilities as I made my way back through the club, stopping at the bar to say goodbye to David before I left. I entered the cool room, searching for my host among the small smattering of those enjoying an early afternoon cocktail. Melodic piano music filled the air courtesy of a man tapping keys at a baby grand. Servers in pressed uniforms and bow ties circulated silently around the room. But no sign of David. No sign of his two gentlemen in slacks either, so I figured they must have struck up their game.

  I did, however, spot someone else I knew sipping a glass of rosé alone at a table near the windows overlooking the golf course.

  Caroline Danvers.

  While my better judgment—which sounded a lot like Grant, coincidentally—told me to leave it alone, my body drifted toward Caroline's table.

  "Mind if I join you?" I asked.

  Caroline looked up from the view, staring at me a beat before recognition set in. "Oh, uh, yes. Sure. You're the girl from the winery."

  "Emmy." I was going to get a complex if people didn't start remembering my name. "How are you?"

  Caroline blinked at me, as if not understanding the question.

  "You holding up alright?"

  Then it dawned on her. "Oh, right. Yes. Heather." She took a long sip from her glass, not necessarily answering me as her gaze flittered back toward the windows.

  I looked out, following her line of sight. It wasn't hard to guess what had her attention, as Jennifer Foxton was just to our left, Cole's arms wrapped helpfully around her back as he adjusted her hands on her club.

  "He's very good, isn't he?" I asked, slowly, watching her reaction.

  But she just nodded, and sipped (gulped?) her wine again.

  "He told me he used to have daily lessons with Heather," I said, eyes still on her face.

  She snorted. "Did he?"

  I nodded. "How well did you and Heather get along, Caroline?" I asked softly.

  She shrugged, tearing her eyes away from the window. "Fine. But really she was more Jennifer's friend than mine." Caroline drained her glass, signaling for a server to bring another.

  I watched him nod and retreat without saying a word.

  "Jennifer mentioned that she introduced Heather to a lot of you at the club."

  "Forced her on us, more like it," Caroline said, starting to sway slightly in her chair. "Of course, that's Jennifer. Jennifer does whatever Jennifer wants, whenever she wants to do it."

  I wondered if that was some longtime rivalry speaking or the wine. "She looks like she's enjoying her lesson with Cole," I noted.

  "Yes, and that was my lesson! She just took it! My lesson. It was my time with him, not hers." Her words were like bullets, firing hard and fast.

  "And Cole gave it away to Jennifer?"

  "What?" Caroline turned to me, blinking.

  "Your golf lesson. If he gave away your slot, you could take it up with the club."

  Caroline visibly blushed, and she attempted to conceal it by turning back to her glass, a bewildered look coming over her face at finding it empty.

  Clearly it hadn't been her first. Which made me feel slightly guilty to exploit. "Caroline, I saw you with Cole yesterday," I said softly, so as not to be overheard.

  Her gaze lifted to meet mine. "What?"

  "I saw you and Cole. In the garden." I left the insinuation hanging.

  A host of emotion ran across her features—surprise, embarrassment, and maybe even a little sadness.

  "Oh God," she said, burying her face in her hands.

  "You've been having an affair with Cole?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.

  She uncovered her face, her eyes watery with emotion and too much rosé. And she nodded slowly. "Yes." It was just a whisper.

  "How long has this been going on?"

  "A few months. Since shortly after he started here."

  "Did anyone else know?" I asked. "Heather?"

  She let out a bark of laughter through the tears. "Heather." The word was said on a sneer. "You know he didn't care about her at all."

  "You mean Cole?" I asked, even though I could guess. "Cole was sleeping with Heather too."

  I had to wait for her answer, as her new glass of wine came, the server silently replacing the empty one before walking away with it.

  Caroline took a fortifying sip before continuing. "He didn't love her," she repeated. "He didn't. She wasn't special to him. Not like what we have." A tear slid silently over her skin, running off her chin and landing on the polished wood table.

  I reached for a cocktail napkin and handed it to her as she gave an unladylike sniff.

  "He loves me. Me! I'm the special one."

  I had the feeling Cole Jackson had a lot of special ones, but now didn't feel like the time to raise that point.

  "All of the others, they're just income to him. I don't even pay him anymore, and that's how I know how he really feels for me. Heather had to pay. In fact, everyone else has to pay for his services. Not me. That's how I know he loves me," she finished quietly, delicately dabbing at her tears.

  "He gives free lessons?" I asked.

  Caroline paused. "What?"

  "He gives you free golf lessons?"

  She blinked wet lashes at me. Then to my surprise, she laughed. "Oh, you really are slow, aren't you?"

  I stared at her, my mental hamster trying to catch up on his wheel before it hit me.

  "Wait—are you saying that these women have been paying Cole for sex?"

  "Shh!" she hissed, her eyes whipping around the room. "Discretion," she warned.

  I found that ironic, considering it had been Cole grabbing her giggling behind that had led me on this Easter egg hunt.

  "How long has this been going on?" I asked.

  "I told you. We've been seeing each other for a few months."

  "I meant, how long has Cole been charging the women here for sex?"

  Caroline's eyes darted around the room again. "Look, don't judge. Some of our husbands just aren't really there for us. Trevor travels so much, and…well, women have needs just as much as men do, and Cole is very good at what he does."

  I'll bet he was.

  "How many people know about his sideline business?" I asked, wondering which job was really the sideline—the golf instructing or the gigolo gig.

  Caroline shifted in her seat, fiddling with the stem of her glass. "Cole is very discreet, and his clientele very select."

  "Like Heather Atherton?" I asked.

  Caroline nodded.

  I glanced out the window. "And Jennifer Foxton?"

  Caroline's eyes flickered to the pair. Cole was standing beside Jennifer now, laughing at something the woman had said.

  "I doubt it," Caroline finally decided. "Jennifer is besotted with her husband." She paused. "Or at least his political aspirations. She'd never do anything to jeopardize that."

  "But Heather would jeopardize her marriage?" I pressed, steering back to the dead woman.

  Caroline shrugged. "Heather was bored. James is a good fifteen years older than she was. And, well, little blue pills can only do so much, you know?"