He pulled a small pad of paper from his back pocket, flipping it open to a page of notes. Apparently he'd not gone digital yet like the young uniformed officer. "You didn't move anything in the cellar?"

  I shook my head. "No. I already told the officer there"—I gestured to Hunt-and-Peck—"that I only touched Chas's shoulder. As soon as I saw…" I paused, my throat closing up again. "As soon as I realized he was deceased, I ran."

  "And was the wineglass broken when you found it?" he asked.

  That question was new. "Yes. Actually, that's what alerted me to the fact that someone had been in the cellar."

  He nodded, his eyes flitting to the heavy wooden door. "Any other signs of a struggle that you noticed?"

  I blinked at him. "Signs of a… Wait. Chas got drunk and fell, right?"

  Grant didn't answer me, instead shooting me a hard, unreadable look. "The deceased was here for some sort of party, correct?"

  "Uh, yeah." I licked my lips. "It was a tasting event. But, what did you mean by struggle? This was just an accident, right?"

  Grant ignored the question. "Who else was at the tasting event?"

  "Lots of people."

  "Pennington come with anyone?"

  I wet my lips again, my mouth suddenly dry. "Yeah. I mean, yes, his wife was here."

  "That would be"—he checked his notes—"Vivienne Price-Pennington?"

  I nodded, and I inwardly cringed at the name being said out loud. No way was Vivienne going to be a fan of anything Oak Valley related now, no matter how smooth our Sirah was. I silently said goodbye to her future business. "But they arrived separately," I told him. "Vivienne came with her son and mother, and Chas arrived with his sister."

  "Jennifer Pacheco." This time Grant didn't have to consult his notes to remember the name.

  "Right. Jenny." I paused. "This was an accident, right? I mean, Chas was drunk. We all saw that. He passed out. And…" I trailed off, hoping the detective would fill in that blank for me.

  Grant blew a breath out through his nostrils, eyes narrowing at me ever so slightly, as if deciding exactly what information to share. "Mr. Pennington shows signs of having ingested a foreign substance."

  "What sort of substance?"

  "The ME has not made a determination yet. We'll need to wait for a tox report."

  "Tox report…?" His meaning hit me. "Poison? Are you saying Chas Pennington was poisoned!?"

  The dancing flecks in his eyes hit me with a hard look again. "I'm not saying anything."

  Sure. But his silence spoke volumes. I recalled the broken wineglass beside the body. Had Chas's wine been poisoned? I closed my eyes and thought a really dirty word, imagining all those great reviews for my paella now being replaced by headlines about the poisoned wine at Oak Valley Vineyard.

  I realized Grant was talking again and opened my eyes, willing myself to tune in instead of lamenting the impending imbalance of Shultz' Seesaw.

  "…and we believe Mr. Pennington expired just after 8:00 p.m. Who was at the winery then?"

  I tried to think back, but I hadn't exactly been watching the clock at the time. "I-I don't really know. I mean, I think people were starting to leave then. I was outside, saying goodbye to guests. Some people might have been in the tasting room, still, finishing their drinks."

  "Was Jennifer Pacheco still here?"

  Something in his voice made my head shoot up, my eyes meeting his. They were still unreadable, but I could tell my answer meant something to him. "You don't think Jenny had anything to do with her brother's death, do you?"

  "Just answer the question, please, ma'am."

  My turn to narrow my eyes. In the South, calling someone "ma'am" might be a sign of respect, but in California the only people who called a woman in her thirties "ma'am" were either being carelessly condescending or purposely rude.

  "May I see your badge again, please?" I asked.

  If the question surprised him, he didn't show it, instead pulling the badge from his back pocket again and holding it out in front of himself.

  I leaned in, taking a good look this time, and felt my heart sink at what it said. VCI Unit. Violent Crimes Investigations. This was not an accident. Grant was here investigating a crime…a murder.

  "You're a homicide detective."

  He didn't confirm or deny the accusation, instead returning the badge to his back pocket.

  "What time did the victim's sister leave the tasting event?" he asked.

  I noticed Chas Pennington had suddenly gone from deceased to victim. I swallowed a dry lump. I'd kill for a glass of water right about now. I cringed. Ouch. Bad choice of words.

  "Ms. Oak?"

  "I'm not sure," I admitted. "I didn't check the time. But I know that Jenny had nothing to do with this."

  "You know Ms. Pacheco well?" His posture shifted.

  "I do." I paused. "Well, I did. I mean, we went to school together. And I know she was devoted to her brother."

  "How so?"

  "Well, she loved him." It sounded lame even to my own ears. "I mean, she said he helped out with the family. He got her a job with his wife's company. They were close."

  "Did you know she was his sole heir?"

  That took me aback. In more ways than one. Chas Pennington hadn't been discovered more than an hour ago, and already this guy knew more about him than I did. Clearly Detective Tall, Dark, and Dangerous was not one to be trifled with.

  "I-I don't know if Jenny even knew that."

  "She did." He didn't elaborate, instead changing gears. "Did you see Jennifer Pacheco leave your event?"

  I thought back. "Yes. Actually, she left with her sister-in-law. Vivienne. She drove them." I smiled, pleased to provide Jenny with an alibi. Even though I was sure she didn't need one.

  Grant consulted his notes. "Witnesses say Mrs. Price-Pennington left at exactly 8:35."

  I wondered who the "witnesses" were. Probably Hector. He was very precise with time. Which, normally, was something I loved about him. In this case, the timing didn't help Jenny much. Especially if her brother was already dead by then.

  "We'll be in touch if we need anything else," Grant said, shutting his notepad with finality and shoving it back into his pocket. He extracted a business card and handed it to me. "In the meantime, please call if you think of anything else that might be useful."

  I nodded, though I had little intention of calling Detective Grant. The last thing I wanted to do was help him prove that Chas Pennington had been poisoned by a glass of my wine.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was well past midnight by the time the forensics crew left the winery, and I spent a short, fitful night's sleep interrupted by dreams of dead men in my cellar. I awoke shortly after dawn, feeling the tension and physical exhaustion of the previous day in every bone in my body. I thought about working the kinks out with a short morning yoga routine, but I was feeling about as far from Zen as I could be. So I opted for a very hot shower instead, and added extra mascara and eyeliner to try to detract from the bags under my eyes.

  I was just pulling on a pair of suede knee-high boots over my jeans and cream-colored silk T-shirt when I got a text from Ava.

  At the door. Have coffee.

  God, I loved that woman.

  My cottage sat toward the back of the main buildings, away from the front drive and nestled among the oak trees. It was small by modern standards, built by my grandfather years before, but my parents had upgraded the plumbing and added AC, so it was comfortable. Plus, with a commercial kitchen just steps away, I never cooked in my own cottage, and it wasn't as if the two bedrooms weren't plenty for me, myself, and I. Even if I did yearn for a larger closet.

  I crossed the hardwood floor of the small living room, my boots clacking, and found Ava on the other side of the door, a pair of paper coffee cups in hand.

  "You are a goddess," I told her, ushering her inside.

  "Tell me something I don't know," she answered with a grin. "Here. I figured you could use this today."

  I took a grateful sip. "Have you seen the news today?" I asked.

  "That the wine at Oak Valley Vineyard is poisoned? Yeah. I saw it."

  I cringed. While I'd anticipated such a headline, I'd been too chicken to actually look. "So much for my put-us-on-the-map event."

  "Oh, you're on it," Ava said. "Just for the wrong reasons." She shot me a sympathetic look and put a hand on my shoulder. "Sorry, hon. I know how much it meant to you."

  I shook my head, unwilling to let any tears mar my makeup today. "It's okay. I'm sure as soon as the police get to the bottom of this, it will come out that my wine is fine and had nothing to do with Chas's death."

  "Do the police have a suspect?"

  I thought back to the conversation with Grant. "Unfortunately, I think they might suspect Jenny."

  "No way!"

  "Way." I told her how Grant had questioned me about when Jenny had left and how she stood to inherit. I'd tried calling Jenny last night, but it had gone straight to voicemail. I had no idea if she still had any family in the area to comfort her, but I could only imagine how hard she'd be taking news of her brother's death.

  "How much was Chas worth?" Ava asked.

  "Honestly? No idea. I know his wife is loaded, but I have no idea how much of that goes to his sister. If any," I added.

  "Maybe we should find out."

  I paused, my coffee halfway to my mouth. "What do you mean?"

  Ava shrugged. "Just that someone killed Chas, and it would be good to find out who."

  "I'm sure the police are handling it," I said, not entirely sure of anything. While Grant was right that I didn't know everything about Jenny, I knew her character well enough to know she wouldn't hurt a fly. If he was looking at her, he was barking up the wrong vine.

  "You really haven't seen the headlines, have you?" Ava said, sympathy lacing her voice again.

  The coffee suddenly tasted bitter in my mouth. "How bad are they?"

  She pulled her phone from the back pocket of her white capris—paired today with a flowing, paisley printed, off-the-shoulder blouse that clung in all the right places. She swiped through a couple of screens, coming up with a piece by Bradley Wu.

  Death in Wine Country read the headline.

  I groaned out loud.

  "Oh, it gets better," Ava warned, scrolling down as I read.

  While the paella at the Spanish shindig on the hill was to die for, the main dish was actual death—served up by Oak Valley Vineyard's own Petite Sirah. Thank goodness they only make it in small batches! Forget the long kiss good night. Chas Pennington only enjoyed a sip before dying.

  I closed my eyes. I counted to ten. I thought a really dirty word. "Please tell me this is the worst of it?" I squeaked out.

  Ava shook her head, her eyebrows drawn down in sympathy again. "I could, but you know I'd never lie to you."

  I sighed, feeling those tears threaten my mascara. "What am I going to do?" I asked, flopping back down onto my worn leather sofa. Desperation bubbled up in my throat.

  "Well, first of all, you're not going to cry," Ava told me sternly. "The smoky eye thing looks too hot to ruin."

  I sniffed and grinned at her. "Thanks. No crying. Check."

  "Next," she went on, "we're going to find out exactly how that poison got in Chas Pennington's glass and make sure everyone knows it had nothing to do with your wine."

  "And how do we do that?"

  Ava smiled, the mischievous grin reaching all the way to her big brown eyes. "What do you say we pay the widow Price-Pennington a visit?"

  * * *

  While Ava's idea had harebrained scheme written all over it, I decided it wasn't entirely a bad idea to visit Vivienne Price-Pennington, if nothing else at least to pay our respects. I had little hope of ever doing business with her now, but maintaining a good rapport was a small step toward repairing my crumbling reputation. And, it wouldn't hurt to at least ask how much money Jenny might stand to inherit now.

  We finished our coffee, jumped in my Jeep, and headed west toward the Price-Pennington estate. Fifteen minutes later, I pulled up to the heavy wrought iron gates, standing open, and followed the winding private road up to the big house. I parked under a shade tree in the large drive, and stepped out, my boots' high heels catching on the rough pavers.

  "Nice place," Ava said beside me.

  "Not bad for a second home," I added as I took in the impressive structure. While it was clearly built with a modern hand, the architecture seemed to be a hodgepodge of previous centuries' styles, with nods to Victorian designs in the roofline, a large Craftsman-style porch, and several sprawling towers and turrets cropping up from the roofline like a miniature castle.

  A tall butler in formal-looking attire answered the door, adding to the regal air of the place.

  "May I help you?" he asked in a voice that was deep and monotone. The pallor of his skin coupled with the dark circles under his eyes reminded me of Lurch from The Addams Family.

  "We're here to see Vivienne Price-Pennington," I told him.

  He looked me up and down, the only indication that I didn't live up to his standards a slight curl of his upper lip. "Is she expecting you?"

  "No," I admitted. "But we'd like to offer our condolences."

  He made a noncommittal grunt on the back of his throat but stood aside to allow us entry. "Follow me," he said—a command and not an offer.

  We did, Ava and I trailing after him down a series of corridors, our heels echoing in the quiet mansion, until we reached a beautifully furnished lounge where a broad picture window framed a vista of distant mountains, seen across a lush green valley.

  "May I offer you a drink while you wait?" the butler asked.

  I shook my head, Ava doing the same. "Thanks. We're fine."

  "I'll alert Mrs. Price-Pennington to your presence," he said, almost making it sound like a threat more than a promise as he ducked out of the room.

  Thankfully, we didn't have to wait long as Vivienne appeared a moment later. It looked as if she'd aged a decade in the few hours since I'd seen her last. If my eyes had bags, hers were carrying steamer trunks, the puffy red skin impervious to makeup. She'd made an attempt at looking presentable, but the coiffed hair and deep red lipstick somehow just served to amplify the grief I could see etched in the noticeable lines on her face today.

  "I'm so sorry for your loss," I started, reaching a hand out to her.

  She took it, shaking limply. "Thank you. Good of you to come."

  "Of course," I told her. "I can't imagine what could have happened to Chas."

  Vivienne let out a humorless laugh. "He was drunk, that's what. As usual." She ended the thought with a hitch in her voice, digging into the pocket of her rumpled slacks for a tissue, which she pressed to her nose as she sank into the armchair opposite us.

  "I'm so sorry," I said again, sitting on the sofa. I felt Ava shift beside me. "Is there anything I can do?"

  Vivienne shook her head. "There's nothing any of us can do for him now. My poor Chas dug his own grave."

  Ave shot me a look. "What do you mean?"

  Vivienne sniffed again. "Just that he lived hard, looked pretty, and died young." She broke down, a sob escaping her.

  "The police were at the winery," I said softly, laying a hand on hers. "They said it looked like Chas was poisoned."

  "Lies!" Vivienne's head snapped up. "All lies. Who would ever want to hurt Chas? The man was a living god."

  Who lived hard and was poisoned young. Clearly grief was clouding her opinion.

  "Did Chas have any arguments with anyone? Any disagreements lately?" I asked.

  Vivienne shook her head, shoulders slumping back into her seat. "Just the usual."

  "Usual?" Ava asked, jumping on the word.

  She sniffed and said, "My family wasn't the biggest fan of my marriage to Chas, and I doubt anyone in this house is shedding tears over him besides me. He was, well, truth be told, a bit younger than I am."

  "Oh? I hadn't noticed." I'm proud to report I said that with a straight face.

  Vivienne gave me a smile. "It was a small point of contention in the family."

  "Your son?"

  She nodded. "And my mother. They both thought Chas was after my money." She laughed again, the sound coming out on a hacking cough. "I ask you, what were they really concerned about? My happiness?" She didn't wait for an answer before continuing with, "No. They were worried about their share of the pie. Hypocrites."

  "How much of a share did Chas end up getting?" Ava asked.

  Vivienne's head shot up. "I'm not an idiot. We had separate bank accounts. Chas had a generous allowance, but that's it."

  I thought of the Lamborghini Chas had driven to the vineyard that, incidentally, was still parked in our lot. The allowance must have been pretty generous indeed. A thought that must have showed on my face, as Vivienne continued.

  "Look, you didn't know Chas. I gave him gifts from time to time, yes. The car, the gold watch, the Armani suits. But Chas wasn't after my money. He loved me. In fact, it was his idea to have a prenup. He didn't marry me for my money. I don't expect you to understand it, but what we had was love. Not business." Then she relapsed into a bout of tearing sobs.

  I patted Vivienne's hand awkwardly again and glanced to Ava. This wasn't getting us anywhere, and I had a bad feeling that instead of comforting Vivienne, we were just upsetting her more.

  "Did Chas have any close friends? Other family?" Ava asked.

  Vivienne shrugged. "He has friends at the golf club. But I don't believe he was particularly close with anyone."

  "What about colleagues?" Ava pressed. "Chas worked with you at Price Digital, right?"

  Vivienne nodded. "Yes. I got him a managing consultant position after we married."

  I was no MBA, but I had a feeling that title was code for sit in an office and look pretty.

  "How was Chas's relationship with his sister?" Ava asked.

  Vivienne looked up, putting her tissue to her nose. "Fine. I don't know. I didn't really know her."

  "But you got her a job at your firm too," I pressed.

  She sighed and shook her head. "That was one thing I should have denied Chas."