A Vintage To Die For (Violet Vineyard Murder Mysteries Book 2) (23 page)

“Agnes,” I said, but no actual words emerged. And then I was falling again as a dark waved crashed over my brain and drove me down into the black.

Chapter 23

I was roused to
semiconsciousness by a dank, sweaty smell that made my nostrils shiver. It was like a dog kennel on a wet day, sour and animal-fetid. I shook my head and groaned as the movement set off a pounding pain behind my eyes. A car door slammed and I felt myself moving slowly, almost drifting. And then the darkness sucked me back down.

I wasn’t down for long before I was brought back to bleary wakefulness by an icy wetness climbing up my calves. It reached my knees, then ran cold fingers up my thighs. My eyes fluttered open and I caught a glimpse of night sky, dotted with stars before the dark wave towed me down again. I could still feel the cold water rising, climbing above my waist to my chest and over my shoulders. And then I was choking and gagging as it coursed into my mouth.

Still only half-conscious, I floundered and splashed, twisting and trying to stand, to raise my head above the water. But something was pinning me down! Something strapped across my chest! I fought it in a mindless panic, tearing at it with my hands. And that panic is what finally snapped me almost fully awake.

I found myself in my Jeep, strapped into the driver’s seat, surrounded on all sides by water rushing in over the lip of the open windows. For a moment I thought I was dreaming, a comforting thought despite the terrifying nature of the dream.  My head lolled and my eyes slid shut, but another mouthful of water brought me chokingly awake again. This was no dream. I realized it at the same moment I realized the Jeep was sinking!

The water was lapping at my earlobes by then, and I had to tilt my head back to keep my mouth above the waterline to breathe. Where was I? What had happened? And then a pair of geese floated past the Jeep’s windshield, both of them craning their long necks to glare in at me. Those geese brought it all back. The meal with Armand. Watching him fall face-down on the tabletop. Myself crashing to the floor. But that still didn’t explain how I had gotten into my Jeep and how it had gotten into the pond.

The water came up to my lips again and I began to thrash, my limbs answering my mind’s commands with rubbery indifference, but I was still pinned to the seat.

In that moment I knew I was going to die.

That realization almost saved my life. Adrenaline flooded my body with a surge of electricity that also gave me a sudden clarity of mind. The seatbelt! It was the seatbelt pinning me there!

The chill of the water had numbed me and set my teeth to chattering. With trembling hands I found the seatbelt clasp and managed to depress the red plastic button and tug. But the belt would not release! The water had covered my mouth completely. I was breathing through my nose, my lips clamped tightly shut, face tilted toward the ceiling. Breathing like this meant I could not fill my lungs completely. My brain started to spiral back into the dark abyss as I tugged frantically at the seatbelt’s lock.

It wouldn’t budge!

Water was tickling my nostrils and my heart was racing out of control. I felt around the lock, desperately trying to figure out what was wrong, only to find that when the tongue had been shoved into the slot it had snagged a wad of my skirt. It was wedged tightly closed.

My nose slipped under the frigid water and a red light filled my vision. I held my breath as my lungs screamed, burning for air. I could no longer feel my hands. No longer tug at the belt. I thought of Jessica and Victor and Samson as the red light swelled and grew brighter. I…

I awoke in a
hospital bed, an IV tube running into my right arm, with my throat burning and raw and my head feeling like it had been bombed by an unpiloted drone. I tried to move, but my body screamed in protest and I sagged back into the mattress.

“You are awake,” Samson  said. “It is about time.”

But it wasn’t Samson who leaned over me and took my hand, it was Hunter.

“Hey there,” he said. He was smiling but his eyes were worried and he looked tired. “How are you feeling? Can you see me okay?”

I nodded. “See you fine,” I croaked and it felt like I was gargling glass. I decided to hold off on talking. I waved a hand at my throat and grimaced, my eyebrows raised in question.

“They induced vomiting when they fished you out of the water,” Hunter told me, then looked across the bed at Samson. “Get her a glass of water,” he said.

“First you arrest me, and now you bark orders?” Samson asked, his voice rising, but I heard him scrabbling around on my left and then the ‘glug-glug’ of water being poured. He extended a plastic cup. I reached for it, but my hand fell away limply.

“And now I should hold it for you?” he asked querulously. He looked haggard and his clothes more rumpled than usual.

“Thank you,” I whispered as he put the cup to my lips. I swallowed it all and he took the cup away.

He looked at me speculatively and said, “You will live, de Montagne. Now it is time you got up from there. The prices they charge here will kill you quicker than drowning.” He was deadly serious, but still I laughed. And it hurt my throat. The water had soothed it a little, but not enough.

I looked at Hunter. “Armand?” I rasped, “Is he okay?”

“Down the hall,” Hunter replied. “We found him in the house after we found you. He was face down on the dining room table. He's going to be okay.”

I slumped into the bed with relief as I felt two pinpoints of hot tears in the corners of my eyes. Hunter squeezed my hand.

“You’re very lucky a patrol car was passing by and saw your Jeep in the pond,” he said. “Deputy Thompson pulled you out.”

I nodded and managed to lift a hand and wipe my eyes. Samson handed me a tissue.

“This box of tissue will cost fifty dollars.” He warned me as he wedged the box into the side pocket of his jacket. “So, we will take it with us.”

“Samson,” Hunter said. “Enough.”

But Samson was not to be dissuaded when money was involved. “If you use the restroom, do not use the toilet paper,” he said to me. “I will give you a tissue.”

I rolled my eyes and looked at Hunter.

“What happened?” I whispered.

“You don’t remember?”

I shook my head. “I woke up in my Jeep,” I said, my voice fractionally louder. When I continued, I gave him the condensed version, pausing between words due to the pain in my throat. “All I remember is Armand and I were finishing dinner when he passed out. I tried to get up to help him and I hit the floor. The next thing I knew I was strapped in my Jeep, in the middle of the pond. The water was rising. It went over my head and I couldn’t get the seatbelt loose. It just wouldn’t budge. I—I—” I stammered to a stop. I was shivering all over, reliving that moment when I knew I was going to die, feeling the icy caress of the water lapping over my face. I didn’t realize I was crying until Samson pressed a tissue into my hand.

“You snagged your dress in the seatbelt when you buckled up,” Hunter said.

“I didn’t buckle the belt,” I said defensively, my voice rising despite the pain. “It was Blake Becker, I’m sure of it.”

“Claire, your blood alcohol was point two four. That’s three times the limit,” Hunter said. His voice still held concern, but there was a watchfulness in his eyes now. The questioning gaze of a career police officer. “Are you sure you didn’t get in your car and drive off the road? You haven’t been charged with a DUI because you were on private property when the accident happened, but…”

“That isn’t possible.” I jerked my hand out of his. The tears were gone, burned away by indignation. “I had two half-glasses of wine and two small glasses of port, Hunter. I haven’t been hammered-drunk since my twenty-first birthday party.”

“There were three almost empty bottles of wine in the kitchen,” he said.

“And Armand drank almost all of them,” I replied stiffly. “But the port bottle was still almost full when Agnes cleared it away.”

I saw a flicker in Hunter’s face when I mentioned Agnes.

“Is Agnes okay?”

Hunter looked away.

“Is Agnes okay, Hunter?”
I sat up abruptly. Hunter didn’t even look my way.

“Look at me, Hunter!” I barked, despite my raw throat. “Is Agnes okay?”

He glanced at me, sighed, and shook his head. “She’s dead, Claire. She was on the floor with a bottle of port in her hand. It looked like she slipped and hit her head.”

It was my turn to look away, down at my hands, which were twisted into a knot in my lap. The port…

“Her blood alcohol was point two nine. It looks like you had quite a party with Armand. His blood alcohol was point three six.” I detected a jealous inflection when he spoke Armand’s name, but I didn’t have the time or the patience for juvenile pique at that moment.

“It was the port,” I said. “It tasted too sweet. You need to have that bottle analyzed. I think we were poisoned.”

“Port is supposed to be sweet,” Hunter said incredulously. “Right?”

“Not that sweet. I think it was tampered with. By—”

“Let me guess,” Hunter cut me off, his tone turning sarcastic. “Blake Becker.”

“He tried to kill me last night!” I yelled, shooting upright in the bed.

“Now, Claire,” Hunter began incredulously, eyeing me like he doubted my sanity.

And that was enough from him for one day. My teeth ground and my hands balled into fists. “Am I under arrest?” I asked coldly.

Hunter’s face went red. “No,” he said, “You are not.”

“Then get off my bed and get out of my room,
Sheriff,”
I said and pointed at the door, the second time in two days I had ordered him out of my presence.

Hunter went rigid, his eyes blazing at me, but he didn’t say anything. He stood stiffly and stalked to the door, jerked it open, and was gone.

And good riddance!

Jessica came in right
after Hunter left, a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a clutch of magazines in the other. She approached the bed, her pale face etched with concern, her blonde hair tucked behind her ears.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “I saw Hunter in the hallway…”

“I’m fine,” I replied, “And Hunter is a complete jerk.”

“He said you were drunk driving?” Jessica said and I felt my face grow hot.

“That’s because he’s an idiot!” I snapped. “I’ve never driven drunk in my life.” I almost added that someone had tried to kill me, but Jessica looked stressed enough. As a mother, I was used to keeping the ugly details of life to myself.

Jessica nodded, and I could see she believed me. She placed the magazines on the bed beside me.

“I won’t need those,” I said as I reached for the IV jutting from my arm. “I’m leaving.” I peeled off the tape holding the IV in place and eased the needle out with a grimace.

“We should take the tubing,” Samson said. “It is probably twenty dollars on the bill. We could use it to—”

“We’re not taking anything, Samson. And put those tissues back,” I snapped at him. “Jessica, please get me my clothes.” I turned out of bed and stood. I was shaky at first, my head light as a feather, but the moment passed. The anger had given me a little boost of energy, but behind that energy was a tremendous physical and emotional fatigue.

My purse was on the bedside table. I opened it and found a soggy mess. My cell phone was right there on top. I tried it, but it was dead, water dripping out of the case. I slammed it back into the bag and headed for the bathroom on wobbly legs, my purse slung over my shoulder.

Victor ducked in from the hallway as I was opening the bathroom door.

“Are you supposed to be—” he began, but bit it off when I scowled at him.  “Got it,” he said with a nod as he eased the door closed behind him. “It’s a prison break.”

By then, Jessica had fetched my wilted and still damp dress and undergarments from the closet, but my shoes were missing. I didn’t care. I would have walked out of there in the green hospital gown with my derriere flashing through the slit. I had business with Blake Becker that couldn't wait. Hunter might not believe me yet, but I was determined to prove I was right. And to heck with the consequences.

As I headed through the bathroom door, Samson handed me a single tissue. “Do not use the toilet paper,” he said. “They will charge for every square.”

I growled at him unintelligibly, snatched the tissue out of his hand and slammed the bathroom door closed.

My face in the mirror made me flinch. My skin was pale, almost gray, and every line and wrinkle had deepened into a wearied groove. Dark circles surrounded my eyes, making me look like a half-dead raccoon.

I took a comb from my purse, wet my hair, and combed it into something resembling a tidy rat’s nest, then searched my purse for cosmetics. I found a tube of Chapstick and a watery compact of blush. I ducked my head out and begged foundation and blush from Jessica and did what I could to cover the damage of the previous night. When I was done and dressed in my soggy black dress, I exited the bathroom. Jessica had brought me a pair of purple flip-flops from the trunk of her car, which completed my bag lady ensemble.

I rounded up my troops and marched out into the corridor.