Ew. I did not want to think of James and his need for little blue pills.

  "Anyway, she got tired of him," Caroline finished.

  "Enter handsome Cole," I said, unable to keep the disdain for the man out of my voice.

  Caroline must have picked up on it, as she shot me a look. "Look, Cole is a good person. Life has been hard for him. He wasn't born with a silver spoon in his mouth, you know?"

  I hesitated to point out that most people weren't. But we didn't all become gigolos to the rich and lonely.

  "Anyway, this is all hush-hush," Caroline warned, sipping her drink again. "Seriously. Cole could get fired if this came out." She paused. "Possibly arrested. It might even be illegal."

  "Gee, ya think?" I blurted out. "Caroline, it's prostitution!"

  "Shh!" she shushed me again. "That's such a dirty word."

  It was a dirty situation. Then a thought occurred to me. "Caroline, what lengths do you think Cole would go to in order to keep this secret?"

  She swallowed a sip of rosé with a little hiccup. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean what if, say, one of the women was so enamored with Cole that she was going to leave her husband for him," I said, thinking of Heather. "Maybe she told Cole, he rejected her as just a paying customer, and she threatened to expose him?"

  Caroline stared at me for a moment, her expression unreadable. "That's ridiculous. No one here would do that."

  Maybe no one here. But I was starting to wonder about the woman who had been found behind the dumpster.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Warm air washed over me as the automatic glass doors swished open, and I stepped outside to hand the valet my ticket. Though, I was beginning to realize there was a hierarchy to this getting-your-car-back thing, and I didn't think my Jeep ranked very high, as my wait was, as usual, longer than most. I took the few moments to let my mind wander over the new info Caroline had imparted on me. It wasn't hard to believe Cole was a gigolo, and it sadly wasn't hard to imagine the bored housewives of the Sonoma elite being interested enough to pay a small sum for his attention. Somehow, though, Heather hadn't fit that mold in my mind. Heather had looked like a model—and not a past-her-prime one either. Had she really been paying for Cole's services…or had she, like Caroline, had a special arrangement with the golf pro? On the other hand, I wondered if Heather's husband knew she'd been paying for extracurricular activities with the allowance he'd given her. I could only imagine he wouldn't be happy to find out.

  As if on cue, I spotted a familiar face walking through the glass doors—James Atherton. He handed a valet ticket to the guy in the blue blazer who, I noted, moved a lot faster to get Atherton's car than he had mine. Clearly he ranked better in the pecking order. As he waited, James turned my way, his pleasant smile turning to a frown of confusion when he recognized me.

  "Hi." I did a lame little wave in his direction.

  "Emmy Oak."

  Well, at least one person remembered who I was around here.

  "Nice to see you again," I told him politely.

  "What are you doing here?"

  I cleared my throat. "Uh, waiting for my car."

  He shook his head. "No, I mean here. At the Links. You're not a member."

  I tried to tell myself he was so sure because he'd been here so long—not because my shoes were from Macy's instead of Gucci.

  "Guest of a friend," I said.

  "What friend?" The frown between his brows that had formed at seeing me hadn't decreased any, and I felt like I was getting the third degree from my elementary school principal.

  "Just…a friend," I answered, not necessarily wanting to put David Allen in anyone's crosshairs.

  He shot me a hard look. "First my office, asking questions. Now my club. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were stalking me."

  "Stalking?" I managed to cough out. "No, I would never stalk you." Okay, so I broke into his house, but we all had to draw a line somewhere.

  "Then what, exactly, are you doing here?"

  "I was…having a drink with Caroline Danvers," I told him. Which was, incidentally, true.

  His eyes narrowed. "You never mentioned being friends with Caroline."

  Probably because I wasn't. "You never asked," I countered.

  He shut his mouth in a thin, hard line, eyes still narrowed. He looked like he had more to say, but at that moment my phone chirped from my purse, giving me a lovely excuse to step away from his death glare.

  I pulled it out and seeing Leah's number, quickly swiped to accept the call.

  "Hey," I said.

  "Hey," came Leah's voice over the line.

  I took a couple more steps away from James, just in case he could hear it.

  "Sorry I didn't get back to you yesterday. It's just been crazy."

  "No, I totally understand," I assured her. "How are you?"

  I heard her swallow. "Good."

  "Liar."

  She laughed, though it was far from a hearty chuckle. "Okay, so I've been pretty crappy. The police were here again."

  I figured as much, after my encounter with Grant. "You okay?"

  "I'm not in handcuffs, so I guess that's something," she replied.

  "I'm so sorry, hun." I watched James get into a bright red sports car and peel away down the drive. I shook my head, thinking how unfair life was. "Hey, I was wondering if I could chat with you about something," I said. "Are you at the Chocolate Bar right now?"

  "Yes, and it's pretty quiet. The afternoon hangries won't come in for another couple hours."

  I grinned. I had to credit Leah's strength of spirit that she could still have a sense of humor. "I'll be right over," I promised, finally seeing my Jeep pull into view.

  * * *

  The Chocolate Bar smelled like home-baked goodies and warm coffee, a combination that instantly soothed me as I stepped through the doorway. The place was deserted, but as the bell over the door jangled, Leah appeared quickly from the back in her signature pink apron.

  "Wow, you really meant you'd be right over," Leah said, grabbing me in a hug.

  It might have been my imagination, but she felt skinnier and more bony than the last time I'd hugged her.

  "Yeah, well, I was in town when you called," I told her, not necessarily wanting to say exactly where.

  "I've got a batch of brownies just out of the oven," she said, moving away toward the glass counter. "Why don't you take a seat on the couch and I'll bring it out."

  My stomach growled as I followed her gaze and looked at the plate of brownies stacked high on top of the glass bakery cabinet.

  "Coffee?" she asked, retrieving them.

  "Do you have to ask?" I replied as I sidestepped three empty tables and chairs to make my way to the well-worn leather couch.

  While things were quiet, Leah had obviously kept herself busy by cleaning. This shop was always spotless, but today it glistened like no other. The polished concrete floor reflected the overhead can lights; the windows were so immaculate that if it hadn't been for the signage, they could have been nonexistent; and the timber tables and metal chairs were lined up precisely, waiting for a hopeful rush of customers.

  Leah made her way toward me, sitting in the lounge chair opposite and placing a tray on the coffee table. She handed a steaming mug of goodness to me, which I accepted, inhaling deeply.

  "Tell me things haven't been this quiet all day," I said, looking around the empty shop.

  "We had a few people in earlier." She sipped at her cup.

  I could tell she was trying to keep up appearances. Leah usually had more than a few customers—droves would have been the word I'd use. Clearly people were still staying away from the shop.

  "How's Spencer?" I asked, helping myself to a brownie.

  "Fine. He stayed at his dad's last night."

  "I know," I said automatically around a bite.

  She paused. "You do?"

  I swallowed the brownie, feeling it stick in my throat like mud. "You, uh, told me. Remember. A couple weeks ago?"

  Leah frowned. "Oh. Yeah, that's right. I probably did." She smiled. "Wow, you have a good memory."

  I did an internal sigh of relief, my guilt receding into a corner like the bad dog it was.

  "Anyway, he said he had a good time. Kids bounce back. At least that's what they say, right?" She shot me an unconvincing smile.

  "How's James taking it?" I asked.

  Leah gave me a questioning look. "James?"

  "I, uh, ran into him the other day. He didn't seem all that shaken up."

  Leah shrugged, grabbing a brownie herself and playing with the edges until crumbs formed on her plate. "I don't know. James never was one to show much emotion. But honestly, I haven't talked to him. We share Spence—that's it."

  "Gotcha." I nodded, shoving more brownie into my mouth. "Thish ish delish," I said, enjoying every morsel.

  A genuine smile broke through her melancholy. "Glad you like them."

  I swallowed, washing the chocolaty heaven down with a sip of coffee.

  "Leah, there was a reason I called you yesterday," I admitted.

  She raised her eyebrow in question. "Okay, shoot."

  "I heard about the fight you had with Heather. The day before she died."

  Leah froze, staring at me.

  I sighed. "Leah, why didn't you say anything to me?"

  She licked her lips. "What would I have said? 'Hey, guess what I did today, Emmy? I punched my ex's new wife.'"

  "I would have understood," I told her.

  Leah shook her head. "I doubt that."

  "So try me. What happened?" I reached out, putting a hand on her knee.

  She stared at it for a second before licking her lips again. "Look, it's not like I set out to hit her. I just…she got me so mad. And it wasn't just this one time, you know?"

  The brownie sat like a rock in my stomach. So she and Heather did have a history of not getting along. "What happened this time?" I pushed again.

  She took a deep breath. "She was pressuring James. Saying he was paying me too much. She resented the alimony. Especially since I opened this place. I guess she thought I should stop taking his checks now that I was making money of my own."

  "But James wouldn't do that?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "No, the alimony is set in the terms of our divorce. James isn't stupid enough to violate that. Besides, you know how much we've been struggling here." She gestured her arms wide, as if the empty benches could attest to that. "If we didn't get James's payments every month, I don't know what would happen."

  "If you knew James wouldn't give in, why did you go see her at the Links?"

  "Well, there was more." She paused, sipping her coffee.

  "Tell me," I prompted.

  "James pays child support too. Which, of course, Heather hated." She rolled her eyes. "But unlike the alimony, that number can change."

  "How so?" I asked.

  "It's based on how much time James spends with Spencer. The more time Spencer stays at his house, the less money he has to send me to care for him." She paused again and did more lip licking. She was really going to need some ChapStick after this conversation. "Heather was pressuring James to sue for custody."

  "No way!" That felt like a low blow even for Heather.

  Leah nodded. "Way."

  "But he never would have gotten it, right?"

  She shrugged, moisture building behind her eyes. "I dunno. I mean, for all his faults, James isn't a bad father. And he can certainly provide for Spencer more than I could."

  "Yeah, but can he bake a brownie?" I asked, only halfway joking as I held up the confection.

  She attempted a smile through her building tears.

  "Look, I'm sure no court in the world would take Spencer away from you. He's obviously a great kid, raised well, and adores you."

  "Thanks." She let out a shaky breath. "But I wasn't as confident as you, and when I heard what she was trying to pressure James into, I confronted her."

  "At the Links."

  "Yeah. I told her to stay away from my son, and she laughed in my face—saying soon he'd be her son."

  "Ouch."

  Leah nodded. "You see why I snapped and hit her?"

  Honestly? I did. "Witnesses heard you tell her to watch her back."

  The wet tears spilled over Leah's lashes, and she swiped at them with the back of her hand, making my heart squeeze. "I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that if she could play dirty, then so could I," Leah cried. "I didn't mean that I would literally stab her in the back."

  I reached out and grabbed her free hand in mine. "You know I totally believe you, right?"

  "Do you?" she asked, her eyes big and watery.

  I nodded vigorously. "Of course! Look, we've all had a mean girl like Heather in our lives at one point or another."

  "If only I could turn back time, I would just have walked away. It was so stupid." Her shoulders heaved as she covered her face with her hands and dissolved into crying in earnest. "They searched my house," she sobbed. "They even went through Spencer's room."

  "Who did?"

  "The police." Her head came up, her eyes meeting mine. "I'm sure they think I did it."

  "They won't find anything," I reminded her. "You didn't kill Heather, so how can they?"

  "But what if…" Leah couldn't finish the sentence.

  "They won't," I said sternly. "There is no evidence linking you to the murder."

  She let out a shaky breath. "Right."

  "Look, why don't you and Spencer come out to the winery tonight?" I asked, handing her a napkin from the tray. "Bring some pj's, and I'll cook dinner for you both. I'll invite Ava too, and we can make it a girls' night in. Spencer can sleep in the guest room, and we can relax with a bottle of wine and some chick flicks."

  "Chick flicks?" she asked, scrunching up her nose.

  I shrugged. "Thelma and Louise is my go-to, but I'm open to suggestions."

  She grinned. "I don't think I could watch a romance without throwing up right now. Let's see some guys blowing stuff up instead."

  I laughed, happy to see her smile in earnest in response. "Blowing stuff up it is," I promised. "It's a date."

  * * *

  I left Leah's with another half dozen cupcakes, which I gave at least 50-50 odds at surviving the drive back to the winery, before texting Ava about our impromptu girls' night. She texted back immediately, saying she was in.

  I stopped briefly at the grocery store to pick up a few items and, on impulse, grabbed a dozen daisies as well. To paraphrase Meg Ryan, it was hard to be unhappy with a bunch of friendly daisies staring you in the face. And Leah could certainly use a little friendly right now.

  I glanced at my dash clock as I got back into the car and put the AC at full blast to ward off the summer heat. I still had a couple of hours before I needed to start dinner. I decided to take a quick detour before heading home, typing the address for Dixons into my GPS. Whether Heather was killed for personal or professional reasons, money seemed to be at the heart of it all. It was possible it was a jealous husband, rejected lover, or jealous frenemy that had finally snapped. But if James had been telling the truth about the argument with a client, it could also have had to do with her wine business. The dollar amounts she was dealing with were vast, and it still bothered me that James had thought her business was failing. Maybe someone at the auction house she'd done so much business with could shed some light on the subject.

  I'd never been to Dixons before, and I'd admit to not knowing very much about it. The only time Oak Valley Vineyards and an auction had ever been mentioned in the same sentence was when Schultz warned of bank foreclosure if we didn't get that seesaw higher on the assets hand.

  An elegant brass sign alerted me that Dixons was on the right, and I pulled into their parking lot, taking a moment to study the building. It was older, harkening to an era when architecture was as much for decorative purposes as practical, sporting white molded pillars, a high stone façade, and copper trim with lush green ivy growing up the sides.

  The lot was nearly full—a sure sign that an auction was currently going. I crawled the lanes, looking for an empty slot. As I zigzagged my way through the lot, I nearly missed a black SUV tearing through. And when I say I nearly missed it, I meant just that.

  Hitting the brakes hard, I just managed to swerve out of the vehicle's way, narrowly avoiding an impact. Cursing under my breath, I death-stared the driver of the SUV as he turned the corner.

  It was only then that I got a look at the bad driver in question, as his face became visible through the open window.

  I froze.

  Dark hair. Weathered features. Scar cutting through his eyebrow. Wearing a dark cowboy hat.

  The Man in Black.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I blinked, feeling adrenaline rush through me at the recognition, even as the Man in Black pulled out of the lot, clearly not caring who I was. It took a second for my instincts to kick in, but when they did, I pressed down hard on the accelerator, maneuvering my way back to the road. I managed to stay a few cars behind the SUV and follow him as we wound our way through town. At one point, when two other black SUVs pulled into traffic between us, I thought I might have lost him. It was like that game where the magician places a ball under one of three cups and then moves them around so quickly you lose track of which cup was which. But happily the correct one made a left turn, and I caught sight of the driver just in time.

  My tires squealed as I took the corner at speeds usually frowned upon, but the Man in Black didn't give any indication of noticing me. A few blocks later, I watched him pull into the lot of a storage facility with a sign outside that read A1 Personal Storage. I drove past, made a U-turn at the next light, and parked on a side street behind the facility. I got out of the car and followed the fence along the perimeter of the property, my sandals slapping against the pavement, until I found an open gate at the front. I quickly stepped inside, finding myself in a maze of small warehouses housing dozens of storage units with metal rolling doors.