How to Dine on Killer Wine: A Party-Planning Mystery (9 page)

“Oh. You saw that.”
Good,
I thought. I wanted him to feel jealous too.

“Yeah. Looked like he was macking on you. You guys make a date?”

I shrugged nonchalantly. “He tried, but I told him I had a big mean boyfriend who didn’t let me date other men.”

Brad laughed. “Well, next time I see him talking to you, I’ll take him out.” He slapped his fist in his palm, then leaned in and kissed me. I melted into it until I realized where I was and pulled back abruptly. I glanced around to see if anyone had caught me.

“Brad! I’m working,” I said. “And by the way, so are you. It’s time for the entertainment. And I could use a big strong man to help me.”

“You left out ‘mean,’” he said.

I collected Javier, Duncan, and Berkeley and asked them to roll a large wine barrel to the center of the garden. Then I took the microphone and announced the beginning of the entertainment.

“All right, everyone. I hope you’re enjoying the Christophers’ new merlot. Now it’s time for some fun. First up will be the Balancing Barrel Boys, who will battle on top of a sideways wine barrel—blindfolded! Next the Grape-Stomping River Dancers, who will turn grapes into wine to the tune of an Irish folk song. And finally, you’ll all get to participate in a wine-tasting game. So without further delay, let’s get this party started!”

By the time dessert was served around eleven p.m., the party had gone without a hitch and I finally stopped holding my breath. The cake Rocco and Gina had created was a showstopper. It was shaped like a small wine barrel and covered with sugared grapes and leaves. The guests would be talking about it for months.

Around midnight the last stragglers wandered—more like staggered—out. I had to admit, it was one of the best events I’d hosted. The entertainment had garnered
lots of cheers and laughs, and I overheard several guests say the party was “a hoot,” “off the hook,” and “epic.” Even Mother and Larry said it was the best wine-tasting event they’ve ever been to—and they hadn’t had any of the wine.

But like a deflating balloon, I was pooped. It had been a long day and evening, in spite of the fact that the party had been perfect. I sent my crew to their respective bed-and-breakfast rooms with a reminder to be back around nine a.m. for cleanup.

After escorting Mother to her bedroom, I rejoined Brad, who was still collecting party decorations and putting them in boxes. The guy seemed to have boundless energy. Maybe because he hadn’t had as much wine as I’d had during the party.

“Quit!” I said, taking him by the hand. “Bedtime…”

I led him through the front door and we’d started down the hall when I heard voices and stopped. Putting a finger to my lips, I shushed Brad before he could say anything. I recognized those voices—Allison and Kyle. Both of them had come on to us at the party. At the time, I’d written them off as “flirting while intoxicated” and essentially forgotten about them. Their conversation now seemed hushed but heated, as if they were discussing something important but didn’t want to be overheard.

“I saw you talking to her! You were all over her!” Allison hissed.

“Yeah, well, what about you? You were practically hanging on that guy,” Kyle countered in a loud whisper.

“I was not!
He
was flirting with me!”

“Well,
she
was coming on to me. I wasn’t doing—”

“Presley?” I heard my name being called from the end of the semi-lit hall.

Mother.

The voices stopped.

I looked at Brad, then started toward Mother. But as I took a step, something crunched under one of my Mary Janes. It sounded like broken glass. Had a partygoer dropped a wineglass on his or her way to the restroom and not bothered to clean it up?

I continued down the hall to where Mother stood in her nightgown, green stuff all over her face, her hair in rollers. She looked a little like the Swamp Thing emerging from the lagoon.

“Mother, you should be in bed,” I whispered.

“That’s not my bed,” my mother said, her green face pulled back in a grimace as she pointed into her bedroom. “I don’t know where my bed is.”

Recognizing the symptoms of sundowner syndrome, I guided her back to her room and bed, reminding her about the party and that we were staying overnight with the Christophers. I covered her up, tucked her in like she used to do me, and stroked her hand until she closed her eyes.

When I thought she was asleep, I tiptoed into my room through the bathroom, slipped off my shoes, changed into my PJs, and joined Brad in bed.

“Your mom okay?” he asked groggily, wrapping an arm around me as I nestled next to him.

“She’s asleep,” I whispered. “Just disoriented. She’ll be okay. It’s been a long day for her too. Lots of excitement.” I relaxed into his heaving chest, closed my eyes,
then remembered the conversation between Allison and Kyle. My eyelids popped up, my mind suddenly wide-awake.

“Brad, what do you think is going on between those two?” I asked.

No response other than some heavy breathing—and not the kind I had been looking forward to.

Brad was sound asleep.

Brad woke me at seven the next morning and made up for falling asleep on me the previous night. Then we both showered, dressed, and headed outside to clean up the mess. My crew arrived a little after nine. I’d let Mother sleep in and hadn’t heard a peep from her since tucking her into bed in the middle of the night. Nor had I seen any sign of Rob, Marie, Allison, or Javier this morning.

“Presley!” Brad called from the other side of the garden, where he’d been removing wine-stained tablecloths from the serving tables. He held an armful of wadded-up cloth and was staring at the table he’d just stripped.

“What is it?” I asked, approaching him. “The cloths are rentals. Don’t worry about the stains—”

I stopped midsentence. Brad wasn’t looking
at
the table. He was staring
under
the table.

A chill ran down my spine as I leaned in to see what had caught his attention.

I pulled back reflexively, my stomach clenched.

A body lay twisted on the ground underneath the table, a red wine stain circling the front of a once-green T-shirt.

Something protruded from the center of the stain.

I took a second look, immediately regretting it.

That was no wine stain. It was blood.

“Oh my God!” I managed to say as I recoiled. “That’s JoAnne Douglas! She’s been…stabbed. With a corkscrew!”

“Stand back, everyone,” Brad commanded, extending his arms as my crew came running over to view the spectacle.

“JoAnne?” Marie Christopher said, appearing out of nowhere. Pale, eyes wide, Marie stared down at the bloody sight, her hands beginning to tremble.

“Don’t touch anything,” Brad called out to the gaping crowd. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. “Presley!” he said, yanking me out of my stunned silence. “Get everyone back.”

I immediately shifted into delegation mode.
“Delicia, take Marie away from here. Get her some water.”

To Raj, I said, “Check the area. See if you find anyone—or anything—suspicious.” Raj saluted and marched off to search the grounds.

Glancing around, I noticed Rob wasn’t present; nor were Javier or Allison. “Duncan,” I said, “find Rob. And let me know if you see Javier or Allison.”

“Berkeley,” I whispered to my videographer, then waved my hand around the crime scene area. “Would you get your video camera and tape this, please? We may need it later.”

I heard the deep sound of a truck engine and saw a small tractor approaching in the distance. Moments later Javier pulled up near the garage, let the tractor motor idle a moment, then switched it off and jumped down. He must have seen the curious gathering because he headed over toward Marie, who now sat on a garden bench next to Dee, several yards away from the body. Her head was bent over and she held a wineglass filled with water.

“Javier,” I said, intercepting him. “We’ve got a problem here and I need you to stay back. Dee’s taking care of Marie.”

“What’s wrong?” he said, removing his hat.

“Someone’s been killed,” I said. “The police will be here soon.”

Javier’s eyebrows peaked. He shuffled back but strained his neck to see what I was talking about. “I’ll go get Mr. Rob.”

“No need,” I said, spotting Rob and Allison as they
entered the party area from the front door of the house, followed by Duncan. Rob was dressed in his casual jeans, a button-down yellow shirt, and slip-on loafers. He frowned when he saw the crowd—or maybe it was the early-morning sun in his eyes. Meanwhile, Allison, dressed in a short silky bathrobe and pink ostrich-feathered slippers, her hair tousled, had a blank look on her face.

“What’s going on?” Rob said, striding over to me. Allison, behind him, held her hand up to shield her face from the bright sunlight.

“Uh…,” I said, “I…have some bad news.”

“What is it? What’s happened now?” He glanced around as if checking for clues to the bad news.

“It’s JoAnne Douglas…,” I began.

Rob ran his hand through his hair. “Not again! What is it this time?” Apparently he’d expected to see more vandalism.

I turned toward the spot where JoAnne lay. With the tablecloth pulled up, she was clearly visible, one ratty tennis shoe–covered foot sticking out from under the table like the Wicked Witch of the Valley. The other shoe appeared to be missing. But this witch had not been killed by a house. It had taken a corkscrew to do that.

Nearby, also hidden under the table, I noticed a gallon can of green paint.

Had JoAnne brought the paint? Was she planning to use it somehow to ruin the party?

I watched Rob for his reaction as he squinted at the body a few feet away, then started to walk over. I held on to his arm.

“Don’t,” I said. “Brad called the police. They’ll be here any minute.”

Rob shook his head, mesmerized by the sight of JoAnne’s dead body. “What…what happened?”

“Looks like somebody killed her,” Allison said, stating the obvious. “In fact, it looks like she got screwed.” A small smile played at the corner of her mouth.

Rob glared at his sister-in-law. “Allison! Don’t be vulgar.”

“What? She’s dead. You should be glad about that. I’m just saying…”

“Have a little consideration for your sister, will you?” he snapped, then rushed over to be with his wife, who seemed to be taking JoAnne’s death the hardest. Dee let him have her seat next to a tearful Marie.

“Corkscrew,” Allison said to me, having lost Rob as her audience. “Poetic, don’t you think?”

I ignored her. The young woman obviously craved attention, but she wasn’t going to get it from me.

“Excuse me,” I said. The word “corkscrew” had triggered a sudden memory of last night. I walked to the front door of the house and ducked inside.

Pausing in the entryway, I listened for a few moments. Noises came from the kitchen, where I assumed Rocco and Gina were still cleaning up their cooking items. Apparently they hadn’t heard the news. I started down the dimly lit hallway, stepping slowly and carefully, until I reached the first of Rob’s wall displays. I remembered hearing a crunch as I’d walked down the hall last night—a noise that sounded like broken glass underfoot. Eyeing the display, I studied the framed set of antique corkscrews.

The glass that covered the collection of wine openers was intact.

I moved on to the next one. Nothing unusual there either.

I stepped down to the last one. This time, something was definitely different…

I reached up to touch the glass.

Bingo.

No glass.

I peered inside, studying each corkscrew. None appeared to be missing. And there were no jagged glass edges on the inside of the frame.

Hmmm.

And then I saw it, even in the minimal light. The corkscrew on the lower left-hand side of the case looked out of place among the antiques—and oddly familiar. I pulled out my cell phone, touched the flashlight app, and held the light up to the corkscrew. Inscribed in fine print were the words “Killer Parties.”

Oh my God! Someone had taken one of Rob’s antique wine screws and replaced it with one of my party favors!

I looked at the floor, then knelt down and shined the light on the Italian tile beneath the frame. Scanning the area, I saw nothing out of the ordinary. If there had been any shattered glass on the floor, it had been swept away.

I ran my fingers over the cold tile, along the crevices and where the floor met the wall, wondering why the killer appeared to have stolen Rob’s corkscrew and used it to kill JoAnne Douglas. Did he—or she—really think replacing it with one of mine would fool anyone?

I suddenly felt something sting my finger and pulled back my hand. Ouch!

Raising the tip of my middle finger, I saw a dot of blood form on the pad.