Drip Dead (23 page)

“And?”

“I found a few receipts for Veritas. From the figures he gave me for his cellaring income, I’m guessing there were four partners. If you’re right about Wilson that leaves two more partners out there.”

“Which means two people out of the entire population of Pine Ridge.” I sighed. “If Wilson is a partner it isn’t just year-round people, it could be any of the weekenders, too.”

“Everyone except you and Sue and me,” he answered. “And William Robinson. He was pretty definite about that.”

“Then why was he talking to Wilson?” I was back where I started and it made me crabby. I should be able to figure this out.

On Wade’s end I heard his other line ring. It stopped quickly as Karen picked it up, but I knew Wade had work to do.

“I better let you get back to work. I just didn’t want you to worry if you heard about the accident.” I chuckled. “And in this town I knew you’d hear.”

I checked in with Paula. She was stiff and sore, but otherwise undamaged. I assured her I would be fine, and promised to call if I had any news.

The next call was to my insurance agent. While he was dismayed to hear about the ’Vette, he promised to follow up with the impound yard and get some estimates on the repairs.

I didn’t tell him I was afraid it was beyond repair. I wasn’t ready to admit it, even to myself.

The final call was to the sheriff’s office. I spoke to Fred Mitchell and told him the insurance company would be sending someone to look at the car.

“It may be a couple days before I can release it, Georgie. Our accident investigator will be going over it first.”

“The brakes failed, Sheriff. Seems pretty simple to me.”

“He still wants to take a look.”

I asked him about my mother, and he said she was holding up okay. He told me I could visit in the evening if I wanted to come see for myself. I told him I would.

With all the calls out of the way, I settled down with my computer and Gregory’s files. I was determined to make use of the enforced down time.

When Sue returned just before noon I had managed to crack the encryption on the files and open the message archive.

But that was only the first step. I was faced with a file full of contacts and incoming and outgoing messages and I had no idea where the information I wanted might be.

If it was there at all.

“This is taking too long,” I complained to Sue.

She dropped a white paper bag on the table. “Take a break,” she said. “I brought sandwiches from Dee’s.”

Dee’s Lunch was an institution on Pine Ridge’s Main Street. Dee had been serving breakfast and lunch—and closing promptly at 2:00 p.m.—for as long as either of us could remember.

One of Dee’s sandwiches was reason enough to take a break.

Sue and I ate while I filled her in on the previous night. It was the first time she’d heard the details of the accident, and she was horrified by what happened to the ’Vette. And, like Wade, she couldn’t figure out what the connection was between William and Phil Wilson.

Frustration bubbled through me. I couldn’t find the information I needed in Gregory’s files, I couldn’t work, and I couldn’t get my mother out of jail.

I needed to do something useful.

And I knew where I had to look.

Mom’s backup key ring was on the dresser in the bedroom

On that key ring were
all
her keys.

Including the one to Gregory’s house.

Never, ever, ever put coffee grounds or grease down the drain. Most kitchen sink clogs are the result of grease buildup that traps tiny food particles. Better to avoid a clog in the first place than spend time and money clearing it.

 

—A Plumber’s Tip from Georgiana Neverall

Sue was, as usual, underwhelmed with my plan.

“You can’t break into Gregory’s house. Fred may be sympathetic right now, but if he catches you ...” Her voice trailed off and her face clouded with worry.

“I won’t be breaking in,” I argued. “They released the house. I have a key. No breaking in involved.”

She looked skeptical. “And what do you hope to accomplish, anyway? The police have already searched the house. If there was anything to find, they would have found it.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

“Yes you can. Remember what happened when you tried to search Martha Tepper’s house? Remember how we nearly got caught, and we had to tell Wade what we were doing?”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“Wellll . . .” I tried to come up with a good reason, but I couldn’t.

“See? It’s just the same.”

“No, it isn’t!” I leaned back and folded my arms.

“Great answer, Georgie,” she said sarcastically. “What are you, six? You going to pout?”

“Look, Sue. I have to do something. The police are through with Gregory’s house, so what can it hurt for me to go look around? I probably won’t find anything,” I said before she could start that argument again. “But what if I do? Did the police look for wine records or check out his cellar? Did they even find two hundred cases of wine?”

“Two hundred cases?” She leaned forward, eyes wide. “He had two hundred cases of wine in that house?”

I shrugged. “Wade and I did some checking. I, uh, I managed to retrieve some files from my mom’s laptop.” I told her about finding the hidden files and breaking the encryption. “We figured there had to be a couple hundred cases owned by Veritas, and Wade said Gregory was storing the Veritas wine.

“So there should be a couple hundred cases of Veritas wine in Gregory’s cellar. And who knows how much more of his personal stock?”

Sue gave a low whistle. “So you want to go look for
wine
?”

“And other stuff.” I uncrossed my arms and rested my left wrist on the table. It ached and twinged, a constant reminder of my accident.

“I have an idea how to do this without attracting attention.”

I laid out my plan, while Sue listened, nodding.

“Okay, Georgie. If I can’t talk you out of this, what can I do to help?”

 

 

I backed the Rent-a-Dent panel van into Gregory’s driveway. I wished we’d had time to get some signs to put on the doors, but the battered, plain white van would have to do.

I’d driven it through a couple mud puddles and artfully splattered more mud over the front license plate. I hoped if any of Gregory’s neighbors was watching they would assume it was one of the construction or contractor vehicles that were so common in the neighborhood.

My coveralls strained around my padded torso, disguising the feminine curve of my waist. I’d covered my short hair with a dirty baseball cap and darkened my face with makeup. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but I figured I didn’t need a lot. People would see the coveralls and toolbox and assume it was a man. That should be enough to make me practically invisible in a neighborhood still under construction.

In the back of the van, Sue sat in a folding lawn chair with a book and her cell phone. “I’ll call you if anyone comes along,” she said. “Be careful, okay?”

I nodded and climbed out of the van. I reached back and took my toolbox in my good hand. I walked up to the front door, selected the key from Mom’s key ring, and unlocked the door.

I stepped across the threshold, my heart hammering in my chest, my toolbox a reassuring weight hanging from my right hand, and closed the door behind me.

No turning back now.

I had never been in Gregory’s new house before. It had been completed only a few weeks earlier. He and Mom had just started to move in, and it still smelled of fresh paint and new carpet.

The entry was paved with marble tiles set in an intricate pattern. The frosted windows surrounding the door soared two stories, flooding the entry with light while maintaining a semblance of privacy.

Ahead of me the entry widened into an airy room with large windows at the far end, overlooking the lush green of the backyard. I remembered Mom talking about the landscaping project. She and Gregory had planned to be married there, and Gregory had spent lavishly to create the perfect backdrop for the ceremony that would never take place.

I pushed away thoughts of the wedding.

The dining room was on the right, the kitchen on the left. If I was looking for a wine cellar, the kitchen seemed the logical place to start.

The kitchen was large, packed with every state-of-the-art gadget and gizmo. Custom wood cabinets lined the walls, surrounding the stainless-steel appliances. The counters were a wide expanse of specially ordered granite with two separate sinks and an instant hot water tap.

I checked each cabinet, finding a wealth of top-end small appliances, a pantry stocked with a mixture of staples and gourmet foods, and neatly stacked china and racks of crystal stemware.

No wine.

Several doors led from the kitchen. The first one was a broom closet. No help. The second door opened into a laundry room with a washer, dryer, and several more cupboards and closets. I gave the cabinets a cursory exam, not expecting to find anything. I didn’t.

One door left. I turned the knob and pulled but the door resisted. I tugged harder, and it yielded slowly. When it swung wide, I understood why it had been difficult to open. The door opened into a small, refrigerated room, and I’d had to overcome the seal on the refrigerator door.

I’d found Gregory’s wine.

I grabbed my phone and called Sue.

The connection was poor, and the signal kept threatening to drop, but I was able to talk to her. “I found the wine,” I told her. “Everything okay?”

The connection faded and I stepped back into the kitchen. The signal was stronger. Something in the refrigerated room must be blocking reception.

“Nobody around. Even the neighbors seem to have disappeared.” She sighed. “Are you through, then?”

“Give me a few more minutes, okay?”

She sighed again, more dramatically. “Okay, but hurry it up. If anyone checks out this van I am going to look pretty silly sitting here in a lawn chair.”

“I’ll be out soon,” I promised and flipped my phone closed before I went back in the wine room.

Back in the chilly room I took a careful look around. I pulled my notebook from the pocket of my coveralls and started writing notes about what I’d found.

Something wasn’t right. It took me a few seconds to figure out what.

The room was chilled. Not just cool, but downright cold. Too cold to cellar fine wine.

And all the wine was white. Not a single bottle of Burgundy or Bordeaux or Pinot Noir.

A rough calculation confirmed what I suspected. There were only about a hundred bottles in the small room. All I had found was the kitchen wine cabinet.

The cellar was somewhere else.

I spent the next twenty minutes prowling through the house opening every door and checking every closet, while fielding increasingly frantic cell calls from Sue.

“Georgie, you have to get out of there.”

“What now, Sue?” This was beginning to sound like the boy who cried wolf. “I’d get through a lot faster if you’d stop interrupting me.”

That wasn’t quite true. I could answer the phone and open closets at the same time. I’d left my toolbox at the door, waiting for my departure. I didn’t need to drag twenty-five pounds of wrenches around the house with me.

“One of the neighbors just came home, and he’s staring at the van.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “He’s coming across the street. Hurry!”

“Shoot! Okay, I’ll be right there.”

I ran for the front door, stuffing my phone and notebook in my pockets. Grabbing the toolbox in my right hand, I twisted the knob and pulled the door open.

Hot needles shot through my wrist and up my arm. Turning the knob with my damaged wrist was a very bad idea.