Murders and Metaphors Page 11

  “No.” His voice was clipped. He now had five books in his arms. “You have a very good selection of research books that I can use for my article. There are so many. I don’t really know which ones to choose. They all look like they would be helpful to me. I don’t have much time to throw this article together, so I’ll take all the help I can get.”

  Grandma Daisy laughed. “We’ll sell them all to you if you like.”

  “I might just do that. These are surprisingly perfect for what I want to write.”

  “Well, as we say, Charming Books is where the perfect book picks you.” She smiled as if she didn’t mean that quite literally, which of course, I knew, she did.

  “I can see that. It just seems so odd that they are all exactly right. Some of the titles here are obscure.” He shook his head.

  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” Grandma Daisy adjusted her cat-eye glasses on her nose. “Or in this case, a gift book in its pages.”

  I cleared my throat, afraid that my grandmother would take her clueless act a little too far and tip our hand. “Have you been a wine critic long?”

  He glanced up from the shelves to me. “I’m a sommelier first. I write, but I am just starting out on the part of the business of being a critic. It will take me some time to catch up to Belinda’s level of success, but now …” He trailed off as if he had thought better of what he was about to say.

  “Then you must know her fiancé, Sebastian Knight,” I said. “I believe he’s a sommelier as well.”

  Jake straightened to his full height, which was even with mine at five nine. “Sebastian Knight is nowhere near in the same league as Belinda or me. He plays at wine. He doesn’t know how to describe it or pair it. I have seen him at tastings. It’s painful to watch. I suppose a less educated person wouldn’t know the difference, but Belinda certainly would. I don’t have the faintest idea what she was doing with him. My only guess is she kept him around because she knew that he would never surpass her. She was the one with the money and the power in that relationship. Don’t let anyone, especially not Sebastian Knight, tell you differently.”

  “You seem to feel quite strongly about Mr. Knight,” Grandma Daisy said.

  “I cared about Belinda. She was my competition, but she was also my friend, and I don’t like the idea of my friends being taken advantage of, especially not by someone lesser than them. Sebastian was only with Belinda because she was his ticket to the exclusive world of wine. I overheard him say as much when we were all at a New Year’s Eve party in Manhattan. I don’t believe that’s how someone should create a career. I believe that everyone should fight for their place on even footing.”

  I didn’t like to hear this about Sebastian. It was sad to me that Belinda had died without knowing real love.

  “Do you?” Grandma Daisy pushed her glasses up her nose. “Do you think that Sebastian might have hurt Belinda?”

  Jake’s head whipped in her direction. “Like kill her? Why would he do that? Without her, he was a nobody in the wine industry. It was only his relationship with Belinda that made him relevant. No one will give him the time of day now.”

  I considered this. It made me wonder why Sebastian had thought it necessary to hire a private investigator to look into the murder, then. He had to know what the wine industry thought of him. Jake acted like it was common knowledge.

  “He had no reason to kill her, but even if he wanted to, Sebastian is far too spineless to get his hands dirty. I never met such a lazy person in all my life. That’s why being Belinda’s fiancé was such a good fit for him. She made so much money, he didn’t have to work. He traveled the world on her dime, too.”

  “I hate to keep bringing up last night,” Grandma Daisy said.

  I knew she didn’t hate it in the least.

  My grandmother went on to say, “But did you see anyone there that you thought might be upset with Belinda in any way?”

  “I’d say that woman that she lost it over. She would have a very good reason. Did she say it was her sister? Did I hear that right?” Jake asked. “She would have a great reason. Belinda humiliated her in front of all those people. If I were her, I would have wanted the floor to open up and swallow me.”

  I winced, knowing what he said was true, or at least the version of the truth that people were most likely to believe.

  “And I saw a winemaker there who she had shredded in a recent article. I believe she called one of his vintages unpalatable. It was like the kiss of death, as far as that man’s business went. No restaurant or wine store would buy his wine with that kind of review from such a powerful woman.”

  “What was that man’s name?” I asked, trying my best to keep the eagerness out of my voice.

  “Miles Rathbone. He owns Bone and Hearth Vineyards.”

  “I saw that man too,” I said. “I remember he came up to Belinda’s table and asked her to sign his book to the winery she destroyed with her review, his winery.”

  Jake nodded. “It’s the same man.”

  “I know it,” Grandma Daisy said. “It’s a relatively new vineyard in the area. I think it used to be a dairy farm when you were a child, Violet.”

  “How long has Bone and Hearth been in business?” I asked.

  “Three or four years,” my grandmother said.

  Jake nodded. “This would have been the first year they actually had wine to sell. It takes some time for vines to bear grapes and for the wine to age. As you can guess, Rathbone was thrilled to finally have a wine to take to the market, but Belinda’s article ruined him before he could even get out of the gate.”

  “What will happen to Bone and Hearth now?” I asked.

  Jake shrugged.

  Clearly, Miles Rathbone was a person to talk to and one to add to my growing list of suspects. “When was the last time you saw Miles Rathbone?” I asked.

  He frowned. “When I was leaving the party.”

  “When was that?”

  He wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something bad. “Why are you asking me all these questions? You’re acting like you’re a cop or something.”

  Grandma Daisy laughed. “Oh, that’s just Violet’s way. You should have heard the number of questions she asked me as a child. She never gave me a moment’s peace. Such an inquisitive child.”

  “I see.” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I’m sorry that I can’t stay and answer all her questions,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. He held up half a dozen books he had selected. “These will work perfectly.”

  After Grandma Daisy rang up Jake’s books, he headed for the front door. I peered out the front window and saw that Private Investigator Redding was still standing outside the gate. He had leaned his guitar case along the fence. The freezing temperatures didn’t seem to discourage him in the least. I didn’t want Jake to run into Redding until I knew more about the private investigator and why he had chosen to stake out my home and business. He’d said that it was because I could give him leads on the case, but I didn’t trust that answer. There had to be more to it. He would do much better chasing down leads of his own than standing outside my door.

  “Jake, you don’t want to go out that way. Why don’t you go out through the back of the shop?” I asked.

  Grandma Daisy’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.

  Jake move his bag of books from his right hand to his left. “Why would I want to go out the back door?”

  I searched my brain for a reason. “We have a lovely garden in the back that leads into the wooded park where the natural springs are. No one can come to Cascade Springs without seeing the springs for themselves. I’m happy to walk you back there.”

  He frowned. “As much as I would like to see them. I’m on a tight deadline. I’ll look at them when the article is complete if I have the time.”

  “Violet, the back garden and the path in the woods are covered in snow. Mr. Zule shouldn’t walk back there in his shiny shoes,” Grandma Daisy said.

  Jake’s face r
eddened at the mention of his shoes, but my grandmother had a point: they were exceptionally shiny, and the snow would ruin them. However, I couldn’t let Jake go out the front door of the shop to run into Joel Redding. I debated whether or not to tell Jake my real reason. Before I could make up my mind, he walked to the front door. “I will try to visit the springs before I leave the village if you really think it’s a must. I have a lot of research to do for this article and have no time to waste. They gave me a couple of days beyond Belinda’s original deadline, which isn’t much. Belinda had been researching this article for months. I have days. Thank you for the books and thank you for your help, but I really must be going.”

  I watched helplessly as Jake walked to the front door. I followed him to the door and looked on as he moved along the pavers, through the gate, and out onto the sidewalk where Redding lay in wait. The P.I. stopped Jake and spoke to him for a minute, patted him on the shoulder, and then the two men made their way toward the Riverwalk together. It was most certainly a bad sign.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I shut the door and sighed. I walked over to Emerson and shook my finger at the cat. “You tormented that poor man.”

  Emerson batted at my finger with his paw, and then he took his paw and knocked the copy of Little Women sitting next to him on the bookcase to the floor. It landed pages down and splayed on the floor.

  I rolled my eyes. “What am I going to do with you, Emerson?”

  He started to clean his face with his paw as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “My dear,” Grandma Daisy said. “If I was going to peg you as one of the four sisters in Little Women, you most definitely would be Jo. You have a very direct way about your questions.”

  “Not direct enough. He still went out the front door.”

  “What do you mean? And why didn’t you want that wine writer leaving through the front?”

  I sighed and told her about the P.I.

  My grandmother put her hands on her narrow hips. “There’s a private investigator in the village? Is he here to steal your thunder as a crime stopper?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a crime stopper, and for goodness’ sakes, don’t ever say that in front of David Rainwater or his head might start to spin Exorcist style.”

  “That would be an interesting trick if he can pull it off.”

  “No, it’s wouldn’t be.” I shook my finger at her. “And don’t get any ideas.”

  “No,” she muttered, with as much enthusiasm as a teenager accepting the fact that she had to do her homework.

  I frowned. “I wonder if Rainwater knows about Rathbone.”

  Grandma Daisy walked back to the sales counter. “I’m sure he does, but you should call him and tell him all you’ve learned. I think he would like to know what his star investigator is up to.”

  “I’m not his star investigator. I think the mere fact that you called me that would give poor Chief Rainwater heart palpitations.”

  She opened her mouth as if she was going to protest.

  “I’ll tell Rainwater just as soon as I see him.”

  “Good,” she said, sounding satisfied. “Now, I think it would do you some good to concentrate on the books in front of you. For some reason the shop’s essence very much wants you to read Little Women. I’m surprised that you’re not further along in understanding what the essence wants you to know.”

  “It’s much denser than people believe. The shop wants me to read it, but it’ll take time.” I bent over to pick up the book that Emerson had knocked over. I flipped it over and found the book was open to the following passage: “ ‘Money is a needful and precious thing,—and, when well used, a noble thing,—but I never want you to think it is the first or only prize to strive for.’ ” Marmee was saying this to her daughters.

  I bit my lip. Ultimately, was the murder about money? But whose money? I looked out the window in the direction Jake and Redding had gone. I glanced back at Emerson, who was washing his tail now. Was this clue from the shop or was it from the cat? I shook the thought away. It was from the shop. It had to be.

  “My dear girl, you just have to make the time for this. It seems to me that you shouldn’t be asking me these questions but asking the books themselves.”

  “I know. You’re right.” I showed her the book. “And the shop agrees with you, too.”

  My grandmother laughed. “It’s quiet now, my girl. Read up.”

  I walked over to one of the large sofas. A fire crackled in the hearth as I curled up in the corner of the sofa with my feet tucked up under me. I lay the book in my lap and waited. Nothing happened. I waited a little longer, hoping that the book would magically open to the page that would tell me exactly what I should do or give me a clue as to what had happened to Belinda, but again nothing happened.

  I glanced up at the birch tree as if blaming it. “If you want me to solve this murder, it might be helpful if you were just a little more direct with your hints.”

  The tree was silent, just like the book, just like the shop and its essence. Emerson jumped up on the couch, curled in a ball, and pressed against my hip.

  “Are you going to help me with this?”

  The cat didn’t answer me either.

  I sighed and opened the novel to the chapter I had left off at the night before, where the girls were all complaining about their work and Marmee was letting them lie about. The March sisters soon realized that they missed the structure of work, and Marmee’s valuable lesson was instilled into each one of her daughters’ hearts.

  The ringing shop phone jarred me from the world of the March sisters and their games of make-believe with their dear neighbor Laurie. The shop phone rang again, and I had no idea how much time had passed since I started reading or how many customers had come and gone during that time. I had been too absorbed in the story to notice.

  The phone kept ringing. I didn’t know where my grandmother had gone. I hopped off the couch and hurried to the phone.

  “Charming Books, where the perfect book picks you. Can I help you?” I asked in a breathless voice.

  “Yes,” an elderly male voice said over the phone. “This is Charles Hancock. I very much would like to speak to my lady Daisy Waverly.”

  Oh dear, I thought. Charles Hancock was an eccentric old man well into his early eighties who happened to be in love with my grandmother. Grandma Daisy did not reciprocate his affections, so when Charles called or visited the shop, she always seemed to disappear. I found the old man harmless and even endearing. My grandmother didn’t appear to see him the same way.

  “Hello, Charles,” I said in the brightest voice I could muster. “It’s so nice to hear from you, but I’m so sorry, my grandmother just stepped out.”

  “How unfortunate,” he said. “I very much wanted to check on her to see if she was well. I have just heard about the events of last night. I hate to think that my dear lady was anywhere close to a murderer. I should have been there with my sword and my shield to protect her from the dangers of the world such as this.”

  I winced. No one wanted Charles Hancock walking around the village with sword and shield. I prayed that he was speaking figuratively, but with Charles there was one no way to be sure. He had a little bit of Don Quixote in him, or maybe a lot bit of Don Quixote. I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if he had ridden up to the bookshop one day on Rocinante with Sancho Panza at his side. As misplaced as his feelings were, I found his gallantry toward my grandmother sweet, but as of yet, I’d had no success in getting Grandma Daisy to view Charles as anything more than an annoyance.

  “I can assure you that my grandmother is fine, and I will let her know you called and that you were concerned.”

  “Please do that. I have half a mind to traverse to Charming Books right now so I can see Daisy for myself.”

  Traverse. That wasn’t a word you heard every day.

  “Oh,” I said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Grandma Daisy is very tired from being up so l
ate last night from the book signing. We don’t want to do anything that will exhaust her more.”

  “Too true. I want my lady to be in her best form. She is so lovely, and she needs her rest to keep her loveliness fresh. I would hate for her to wilt as some flowers do, but it is her soul that I love most. She will always have that. No matter the scars of the body, it is the soul that is precious to me.”

  “I’ll make sure she gets the message,” I said, eager to get back to my reading and cracking this case wide opened.

  But Charles didn’t seem to get the hint that I wanted to end the call. “I am grieved to hear about the troubles that have fallen on the Perkins girls again. I always told them when they were younger to stay together and love one another, but they have not. Now the most terrible deed has been committed against the oldest, against them all, I daresay. I hope after this tragedy the family will finally make amends.”

  I stopped myself from hanging up the phone. “What was that you just said?”

  “I hope after this tragedy that the family will finally make amends. The girls are the only family that they have left in the world. They should be together. It’s what their dear mother would have wanted.”

  “You know the Perkins family?” I supposed I shouldn’t have been so surprised, because Cascade Springs was a small village of only a few thousand people. But he spoke like he knew them more than just as villagers. It sounded to me as if he knew them very well.

  “Of course I do. I know the girls quite well. I watched them grow up.”

  That’s when a memory of Charles from my childhood came to me. He had been their neighbor. However, back then, I didn’t remember him being around as much. That must have been before he fell in love with my grandmother.

  As if he could read my mind, Charles said, “I was their next-door neighbor for nearly twenty years. I still live next to the house that the girls grew up in. They’ve all moved away after the youngest finished high school; that was well after their mother died. Terrible tragedy. I spent a lot of time with them when they were girls and their dear mother, God rest her soul.”