I did a mental sigh of relief on Leah's behalf.

  "Besides, this is more of a cute little girls' night event," Caroline chimed in.

  I glossed over my efforts being called a "cute little" event and addressed Jennifer instead. "Can I get you a glass of anything?"

  Instead of answering, Jennifer turned to Heather, who was still holding her untouched Pinot Noir. "What do you think, Heathy? Should I let her get me a glass of anything?"

  Heather looked from Jennifer to me. Then she gave her glass a slow, deliberate sip. She drew out the answer, dabbing her mouth with a cocktail napkin before replying, "It's alright."

  Gee, so far I'd had a "not bad" and an "alright" from these ladies. Tough crowd.

  Jennifer shrugged. "I suppose I'll have a taste."

  "I'll be right back with a glass." I clacked my stilettos back to the table, only too happy to put some distance between me and the Glam Squad. This was going to be one long night.

  * * *

  The next couple of hours passed in a blur of handshaking, glass filling, and brochure dispersing. The crowd was a good one—ranging from lively couples in cocktails dresses here for the free booze to serious enthusiasts in suits discussing tannin and oakiness, and I even spotted a guy in a cowboy hat, giving the scene some local flavor. While not everyone was as Ice Queen as Caroline and company, they were a discerning crowd, and praise was subdued enough to keep me on my toes. Leah spent most of the evening in the kitchen, only popping out to refill the dessert tables and cut the impressive layer cake. And Ava did a fantastic job of photographing the VIPs while highlighting the food and wine in the shots as well. By the time the guests started taking their leave, most of the bottles I'd brought were emptied, and only a scant few treats were left on the silver trays.

  "Looks like a successful evening to me," Ava said, eyeing the quickly emptying room.

  "We'll know if bookings start coming in."

  "When they start coming in." Ava gave me a wink.

  I grinned. "I like the way you think."

  "Did Leah avoid the Model Thing okay?" Ava asked.

  I nodded. I'd briefly filled her in earlier on the accidental invite situation during a lull in the crowd. "I think so. At least, I didn't see anyone clawing anyone's eyes out, so that's a good sign."

  "What restraint," Ava joked.

  I laughed along with her, though I realized I hadn't actually seen Leah in awhile. With the guests dispersing, it felt like a good time to check in on her and at least relay some of the praise I'd overheard for her chocolaty creations. "I'm going to go see if she needs any help cleaning up in the kitchen."

  Ava nodded. "I'll keep an eye out here in case anyone wants one for the road."

  "Thanks," I called, heading toward the kitchen.

  As the door swung closed behind me, I took a moment to enjoy the stillness. The sounds of murmured goodbyes, tinkling glasses, and retreating footsteps filtered through the closed door, but the kitchen was blissfully silent. I took a beat to inhale the scents of sugar, cocoa, and crispy burnt edges.

  "Leah?" I called. The quiet said I was alone, but she could have been hiding out in the pantry. "Leah!"

  I walked passed the ovens, rounding the corner to a small office, and noticed that the back door to the alleyway behind the bakery was ajar. I wondered if Leah'd popped out for a moment of fresh air. I knew I could use some.

  I made my way to the door, allowing the night air to cool my warm skin as I stepped outside. Even though we were well into summer, after the sun went down, the evenings were still crisp. The dim streetlight at the end of the alleyway created shadows, and I squinted, willing my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  "Leah, are you out here?" I asked, a chill creeping across my skin.

  The alleyway wasn't huge, but it was big enough for a delivery truck and for Leah to park her car. Across from the doorway was a large dumpster, next to which sat cardboard boxes holding our winery logo, now filled with empty glass bottles. But instead of them being stacked tidily like I had left them, several were now tilted on their sides, bottles scattered on the ground. I sighed, crossing the alley to pick them up. Broken glass was the last thing Leah needed back here. I picked the first one up and pushed it against the fence.

  And that's when I noticed a long, slender leg sticking out from behind the dumpster.

  I sucked in a breath. "Leah?" I called, my voice sounding far away as my heart hammered in my ears. I took a step forward, peeking around the side of the dumpster. "Leah?"

  Only, the dress covering the top part of the woman's leg was not a tasteful gray linen, but a clinging white silk.

  Heather Atherton.

  And she wasn't just getting some air. If the cake knife sticking out of her back was any indication, she'd never be getting any air again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Name?"

  "Emmeline Oak."

  "Address?"

  "Oak Valley Vineyard," I said automatically, spouting off the street address. "I, uh, live there."

  The uniformed officer gave me a quizzical look before entering the information into his electronic notepad. "You work there too?"

  I nodded. "I own it. I mean, well, my family owns it. But my dad passed away, and my mom…well, she's not up to it anymore. She's in a home. Her choice—not mine. I mean, I'd much rather have her at our home, but she doesn't want to be a burden. I'd never consider her a burden, but we come from a long line of stubborn women. Anyway, yeah, I guess technically I'm sort of the caretaker of the winery, not the owner." I paused. I was talking too much, wasn't I? I looked up to find the officer still eyeing me. Yep, definitely too much.

  "And you were the one who found the deceased?"

  The deceased. I licked my lips, trying not to replay the image of Heather's body crumpled behind the dumpster.

  "Ma'am?" the officer prompted.

  I nodded. "Yes, I, uh, found Heather Atherton. She was the new wife. Though, I guess now she's the second old wife, and he's the widow. Or, what do they call man widows? Widower?"

  The officer was still staring. "I'm not really sure, ma'am. But I think you might be in shock."

  I closed my mouth with a click. I thought I might be too.

  I glanced up to see Ava and Leah both making similar statements to similar uniformed officers—Ava by the windows and Leah through the open kitchen door. After finding Heather, I'd done a good amount of screaming, then had run back into the bakery to find both Leah and Ava in the kitchen, having ushered out the last of the guests. I vaguely remember telling them what I'd seen, all in a sort of rush, and there'd been more screaming (from me), some panicked tears (from Leah), and the good sense to call the police (that would be Ava). I think we'd each downed a glass of Zin while waiting the few minutes for the police to arrive, but it had done little to dull the horror of the scene I couldn't seem to stop playing in my mind. While I hadn't been Heather's biggest fan, the sight of her body—encased in a designer dress, three-hundred-dollar heels, and diamonds—just discarded alongside the trash, was all I could think about.

  "Officer White?" a voice called to the uniformed officer from across the room.

  I looked up to the source. Standing in the doorway was six feet of broad shoulders, worn jeans, and dark hair above dark, assessing eyes.

  Detective Christopher Grant.

  I swallowed, not sure if I was relieved or worried to see him. Grant was with the sheriff's office's VCI, Violent Crimes Investigations Unit, as I'd learned a couple of months ago when a dead body had turned up in my wine cellar. At first I'd thought Grant was all Bad Cop attitude and hard edges. He'd been transferred to Sonoma after a shooting gone wrong, which he still hadn't shared all the details of with me. I had a feeling there were some gray areas of the law involved. However, the last time I'd seen Grant, he'd been flirting with me in my tasting room. While it had been surprising, it hadn't been altogether terrible, and I might even have flirted back a little.

  But right now, none of that promising mischief twinkled in his eyes. Right now, Grant was all business, his hard assessing gaze squarely on me.

  I swallowed again, really wishing for a second glass of that Zin.

  Grant crossed the room in three easy strides, pausing only to get a quick update from Officer Quizzical before approaching me.

  "Emmy," he said, nodding toward me.

  I waved back, not sure I trusted my voice. Something about Grant always put me on edge, and after the night I'd had, I was already precariously close to going over it.

  "I hear you found the body?"

  I nodded again. "Heather," I managed to get out.

  "Did you know her?" he asked, taking me by the elbow and leading me to an empty table along the far wall.

  "I knew of her," I answered, trying to ignore the heat tingling along my skin at his touch. Finding a chair for me to sit in, he released his hold, yet the tingles remained where his fingers had been.

  "Tell me," he prompted.

  "She was one of my VIPs for the tasting," I said. "But I'd only just met her in person tonight."

  "She came to the tasting alone?"

  I nodded, looking up at Grant. His arms were crossed over his chest, the muscles in his arms flexing with the effort beneath his blue cotton shirt. It was tucked into a pair of jeans that sat low on his hips, and his stance was both protective and commanding.

  "You said you knew of the victim. What can you tell me about her?" He grabbed a second chair and sat across from me, the hazel flecks in his eyes intent as they held mine.

  "Not much," I said truthfully. "Schultz recommended I invite her. She's a wine broker and has some influence in the community."

  "Go on."

  "That's about it. Except that she was married to Leah's ex-husband."

  Something changed in his eyes, but he quickly covered it by dropping his gaze to his notebook. His slightly too long hair fell over his forehead, and his hand distractedly brushed the dark strands back into place as he phrased his next question.

  "That would be the owner of this place, Leah Holcomb?"

  "That's right. She and James divorced last year. That's when she opened the bakery."

  "The split was amicable?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know the details. But when is a divorce ever pretty?"

  "What about the deceased?" he countered. "Was Leah on good terms with her?"

  "Well, I don't know that I'd call it good."

  Grant's gaze flickered up to meet mine. "Oh?"

  I paused. "I mean, not that it was bad either. It was…well, awkward maybe?"

  "Maybe? Or it was?"

  Why did I suddenly feel like I was being interrogated? "She was Leah's ex-husband's trophy wife. How do you think that story goes?"

  The corner of Grant's mouth ticked upward ever so slightly, but he quickly covered it by consulting his notes again. "How was their interaction this evening?"

  I shrugged. "I don't think they even spoke to each other during the event."

  "And after?"

  I frowned. "What do you mean after?"

  "Where was Leah after the event ended?"

  I blinked. "I-I don't exactly know. I was actually looking for her when I found Heather."

  Something flickered in his eyes again. "So Leah was missing?"

  "Well, I don't know about missing. I mean, she was here in the kitchen when I ran back inside."

  "But not before." It was statement, not a question.

  I cocked my head to the side, getting a pretty good idea of where he was going. "Leah did not have anything to do with this," I told him.

  "I didn't say she did," he responded. But the flecks in his eyes told a different story, buzzing with activity. "What time did Heather leave the party?" he asked, switching gears.

  "I-I'm not really sure." I tried to think back, but I couldn't recall specifically seeing her leave. I remembered Caroline ducking out early—something about a golf lesson first thing the next morning. Jennifer had stayed on a bit, meeting up with a couple of other ladies I knew were the country club set as well. I didn't recall when she'd left, but I thought I'd seen a group of them leave in a car together. Had Heather been with them? "I don't remember seeing her go," I finally said. "She might have left with Jennifer Foxton."

  Grant nodded. "I'll check in with her." Clearly he'd already gotten the deets on her as well, as he didn't even ask who she was. Or maybe Grant paid more attention to state politics than I did.

  "Was chocolate cake served tonight?" he asked.

  "Uh…yeah. I think we have some left it you want…" I trailed off, realizing he wasn't asking for a late night treat.

  "Did Leah serve it?"

  I licked my lips. "Yes. It's her bakery. Why?"

  He paused, his eyes searching my face. I could feel an internal war over how much to give away and how much to play close to the vest. Finally, he must have conceded some ground to the giveaway, as he said, "The murder weapon had a dark residue on it."

  "Chocolate?" I asked, my stomach clenching at the implications.

  Grant nodded slowly.

  I closed my eyes and thought a dirty word. The knife Leah had used to cut the layer cake. Her prints would be all over it. And she had been missing.

  "Leah could never hurt anyone," I protested again.

  "How well do you know her?"

  "Well enough to know she didn't do this."

  Grant let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair. "Convince me."

  I licked my lips. "Okay, yes, Leah wasn't a huge fan of Heather. But could you blame her? The woman was ten years younger and looked like a supermodel."

  Amusement flickered across Grant's features, but just as quickly it was gone. "Go on."

  "Look, if Leah was going to murder her, why do it in her own bakery?"

  Grant raised one eyebrow my way.

  "I mean, not that she was going to murder her," I added hastily. "But you know, if ever she…" I needed to take my foot out of my mouth and close it tightly before I had Leah hung. "Look, Leah is just not capable of this. She's a single mom. Moms don't kill people. They bake pie."

  "And chocolate cake?"

  I threw my hands up in the air "Anyone could have picked up that knife!"

  "Where did you last see it?" Grant asked, his notebook out again as his pen hovered over it.

  I'll admit, I thought about lying for a second. But I knew from experience I was a terrible liar.

  "In Leah's hands as she cut the cake," I admitted.

  Grant moved to write that tidbit down, but on instinct, I reached my hand out to stop him by covering his.

  "Look, you have to believe me," I pleaded with him. "Leah did not do this."

  Grant looked up from his notebook, his eyes connecting with mine. I was usually good at reading people, but try as I might to decipher the intense look in them, I came up empty. I had no idea what he was thinking.

  Grant moved his free hand over mine and gently removed it from his. But as he placed it into my lap, his thumb ever so lightly grazed mine in a small, deliberate caress. It was the slightest of touches, but my entire body flushed from it.

  "I'll be in touch," he said softly. Then he quickly let go of my hand and rose, returning to join the rest of the officers swarming all over the Chocolate Bar.

  * * *

  The clock was ticking close to one in the morning by the time we were finally cleared to go home. I was eternally grateful I'd ridden to the event with Ava, because as cool as I'd tried to play it with Grant, the entire evening had shaken me more than I wanted to admit. Enough that I wasn't sure I would have trusted myself behind the wheel of a car. We rode in silence in Ava's car—a vintage 1970s olive green convertible Pontiac GTO that she loved like it was her baby—and I'd never been so happy to see the tall oak trees lining our gravel drive as we pulled up to the familiar comfort of Oak Valley Vineyards.

  Our ten acres were small by commercial standards, but the land had been worked by generations of my family, dating back as far as the early developments of the region. My grandfather had built many of the Spanish style buildings that made up the winery—including the tasting room, kitchen, and offices built beside the cellar where our wares sat in cool darkness, ripening to a perfectly smooth age. My grandmother and namesake, Emmeline, had affectionately dubbed the cellar as "the cave," and it had been a favorite childhood place of mine to hide from the world. Especially after my father had passed.

  I'd only been a teenager then, and with a rebellious streak, I'd left home for a stint at the CIA—just not that CIA. Culinary Institute of America, though the training had been almost as hard, and I was pretty sure chef instructors yelled even louder and more often than drill sergeants. After graduation I'd moved to Los Angles, where I'd been on my way to making a name for myself among the Hollywood foodie crowd. A career that was cut short when my mother began to lose herself, her beautiful mind falling into the early stages of dementia. The sale of the winery had seemed imminent. As much as I had loved being a personal chef to the who's who of tinsel town, I loved my family's legacy even more. So, I'd come home to save Oak Valley. Or, at least put up a decent fight.

  "Well, that was some night," Ava said as I unlocked the door to my little cottage at the back of the winery.

  Like the rest of the buildings on the property, it had been built by my grandfather, but with upgraded plumbing and AC, the two bedroom place was cozy, comfortable, and homey.

  On autopilot, I walked into the tiny kitchen that I hardly ever cooked in, thanks to the fancy commercial kitchen my parents had put in the main building years before. I pulled two wineglasses down from my cupboard, filling them with the remains of an uncorked bottle of Chardonnay in my fridge. "Grant interview you?" I asked.

  Ava nodded. "Like a freight train. Man, that guy is unnerving. I suddenly wanted to confess anything I'd ever done. I was this close to telling him I cheated on my second-grade spelling test." She held up two fingers an inch apart to illustrate her point.

  "I know the feeling," I agreed, handing her a full glass.

  She paused. "If I drink this, I'm sleeping here."

  I gave her a sheepish grin. "I was kind of hoping you would." I had a bad feeling the image of Heather's body was about all I'd be seeing behind my closed eyes that night, and the comforting thought of Ava in the guest room was a welcome one.