One Foot in the Grape (17 page)

I
LEFT
Joanne and drove to Martinelli Winery. Chantal could have taken prescriptions out of Brice's pad and forged his signature. She'd have access if they were spending that much time together. Or Brice could have written them for her and, as a precaution, removed the prescriptions in random order. Then if it was ever discovered, he could always claim Chantal had taken them.

If he'd given her the prescriptions, it was possible she wasn't the only one. Brice might have supplied all his girlfriends with pharmaceutical party favors. Francesca said Brice had expensive hobbies. Was dabbling in drugs one of them? Or he could have been selling them to help finance his other hobbies. Did Todd ask him straight out about Chantal? I was full up on questions. Now I needed a few answers.

The fog had begun to creep in from the coast. It swirled around my car and I turned on my lights, though it was still
early. I was glad to see it, as it would keep the heat from the earlier sun close to the ground. This time of year the clear, cloudless nights were the ones to worry about. They could bring an early frost and ruin an entire harvest.

I parked out in front and took a few minutes to snap the car roof in place. The evening was quiet around me as I walked to the front doors, with only the crunch of gravel under my feet and the whirl of the fans from the fermentation building in the background.

The police tape was gone and there was a light in the winery office. I didn't see Marvin at the desk, and wondered again how much he'd seen from that window.

In less than a day the festival would begin. I couldn't see through the fog to the festival grounds, but there was a halo from lights in the clearing and voices echoed as I made my way up the steps. I'd just begun to knock when Stephen opened the door.

“Oh, hello. Mother said you were stopping by. She's in the library. Go on in.”

As I stepped into the hall, Stephen went out into the night and closed the door behind him.

I walked through the doors to my left, once again in that beautiful room with the peach walls that now glowed by firelight. The scent of freshly cut roses hung in the air.

Antonia sat next to the fireplace. One hand rested on the reading glasses I hadn't known she needed. She glanced up, pulled the glasses off and tucked them into her sleeve.

“Don't hover over there. Close the door. I don't want us overheard or disturbed.” She waved me over with the newspaper she'd been reading.

“Hello, Antonia. How are you?” I didn't really expect a
greeting in return. Good thing because she plunged right in, shaking the papers in her hand.

“Do you know what this is?”

I glanced at it. A copy of the industry newsletter, the
Winery Review
.

Her hands shook as she crumpled the pages. “It's tripe, that's what it is. The reviews of our last vintage.”

She threw the paper into the fire and quoted from memory, “‘The acid is too high, the finish much too short, and the oak overpowering.' I can't understand it.”

After a long pause, she turned to me. “If I were to be honest, the worst part is they're right. I wanted to turn the winery over to Stephen officially this Saturday at the festival—he's worked hard to prove himself—but with reviews like this, I don't know if I can.”

“Things happen—”

“What things happen? Specifics, Penelope.”

“The problem isn't Stephen—”

“The only thing I've changed is giving Stephen more responsibility. If this isn't sabotage, then he clearly isn't ready for the job.”

“Someone has been—”

Antonia shook her head. “Who?”

“Antonia, stop! I'm trying to tell you something and you just won't listen. You have the reputation of being impossible, and I've got to tell you, it's well deserved.”

To my surprise, Antonia didn't respond. She sat there and watched the paper burn in the fire, her only movement the palm of her hand as it cradled the silver handle of her cane.

Finally, she turned to me. “Well? I'm listening, and I don't hear a whole lot.”

Right. I ticked through what I'd found: the person in the fermenting building with the yeast, the jewelry Marvin tried to sell, the missing prescriptions in Brice's office and Francesca's anger at Stephen's inheritance. I told Antonia everything except how Francesca had forced Marilyn to sell her the land. I didn't know how I would solve that one, but for now I'd keep the deal with Francesca.

The only difficult part was telling her about Chantal and Brice. It wasn't easy to watch her face register that her younger daughter was sleeping with her older daughter's husband. The pain she felt over Chantal was evident in the glisten in her eyes. It was possible Todd had discovered this and confronted Brice, but either way, Antonia needed to know the source of so many of Chantal's problems.

I spoke at length, the chiming of the grandfather clock letting us know when it reached eight. The sound echoed through the room. It was only when it stopped that a soft knock was heard at the door. When Veronica stuck her head in, apologetically asking if we wanted tea, Antonia waved her away with a flick of her hand.

Veronica disappeared.

“So basically you're telling me my son is incompetent, my older daughter petty and vicious and my son-in-law has been cheating on his wife with my other daughter, not to mention possibly giving her drugs.” She gave me a small smile. “What? Nothing to add about my daughter-in-law? No, I don't suppose you need to. I know she's a ninny.”

Antonia paused. “I'm a realist. I know my children. I love
them, but I know who they are. They're impossible, all of them. I didn't spend the time with them I should have. I realize that now.” Antonia twisted her cane. “There's something else. I don't know if you remember my husband, Fiorentino.”

I shook my head. “I was too young.”

“He died shortly after Chantal was born.”

“He was still young,” I said. “What did he die from?”

“Heart attack.” She paused. “Not much older than you when it happened.”

“I'm sorry.” It felt unnatural to offer condolences for someone lost so long ago, and Antonia dismissed my condolences with a quick wave of her hand.

“We were wholly unsuited for each other. He wasn't a particularly nice man. Unreliable as a husband. A lot like Brice, now that I think about it. However, my father liked him, which was important. I needed help with the winery, and my father didn't have anyone else to leave it to, which was a problem. He didn't want to leave it to me to begin with, truth be told. My being a girl, his only child, was something he could never forgive.” She shrugged. “It was a different world back then. My father made me promise to leave it to one child. The battles he had with his brother over it tore the family apart.”

“Did you keep your maiden name?” I asked.

“No. That just wasn't done back then, but shortly after he passed I changed it back to Martinelli. The children were so young I changed their names as well.”

Antonia stamped her cane. “I did what I needed to do. That's what women did back then. If it had been up to me, I wouldn't have married at all.” She paused. “There was someone. I was in love with someone I couldn't have. As time went on, my
father threatened to sell the winery if I didn't have a husband. I wasn't letting that happen. So, I got married. Married and had children. My father was happy and, because I had the land, I was content.”

She was content because she had the winery, not because of her three children. She seemed to realize the inequity and lifted her palms. “I was single-minded and I realize that now. It wasn't far to them.”

Antonia turned toward the fire. “And now here we are, discussing the possibility one of my children is trying to destroy what I've built. Ironic, isn't it?”

My voice was soft. “I know it hurts, but I'm not wrong about what I saw in the fermentation building. I can show you the broken bottle. I left it where I found it. Someone is clearly trying to hurt Martinelli Winery.”

She spoke, facing the fire. “I don't suppose you have any good news out of all this?”

“Well, no, not actually.”

“The obvious person is Francesca, but to take such a risk to see her brother fail? She doesn't get the winery, but she still shares in the profits, even if Stephen's in charge.”

“Some people aren't motivated by money.”

“Is there any way to prove who was out there with you in the fermentation building?”

“No. I don't have any way to know for certain.”

“Fingerprints on the broken bottle?”

“The person wore gloves. They were careful not to leave evidence.”

“Yes, I'm sure they would be. Well, I think we better work on finding some, don't you?”

Here I'd been feeling sorry for her. “Gee, Antonia, that's a great idea. I've just been a little busy, getting over a concussion from being attacked and all.”

Antonia tapped her reading glasses against her palm. “Yes, I know. I heard about that. Do you think it had anything to do with Todd?”

“I'm fine, thanks, and yes, it probably has something to do with it. I can't think of any other reason why someone would take a bottle of Chardonnay to the side of my head.”

To my surprise, she chuckled. “Good. Good, you're angry. A bit of anger goes a long way to motivate. I always use it to my advantage.”

She rose and stood with her back to the fire. “Marvin having jewelry to sell. Now, that is quite a puzzle. He likes to gamble. Bets on anything. I pay him good wages, the best, but I've seen him clutching racing forms and watching football games with sweat dotting his forehead often enough to know where most of those wages go. If the apartment behind his office didn't come free with the job, I think he'd be in real trouble.”

I sat up. “So Marvin's here all the time, basically.”

“Usually, yes.”

“All night too. Antonia, do you lock the doors?”

“Never. I don't believe anyone else thinks of it either. We've never had to. If you're asking whether Marvin has access, the answer is yes. If you're thinking he was selling jewelry he stole from here, that's quite impossible. I would have noticed some of my jewelry missing.”

“What about Chantal?”

“She doesn't have much. Unfortunately, I had to stop giving her expensive things some time ago. All Veronica wears are those pearls.”

“What about Francesca?”

“Unlikely. She isn't here all the time, and besides, she doesn't waste money on anything as frivolous as jewelry. She has very few pieces, all of them ugly, in my opinion. Quite stark. Modern.”

I'd been staring into the fire when something clicked into place. “What did you just say?”

“Francesca likes stark, new jewelry. She has simply wretched taste. Really, Penelope, if you aren't going to listen . . .”

“I'm sorry, Antonia, but the jewelry Marvin was trying to sell was old, like maybe family pieces. Antique. Like things stored in an attic.”

“The noises I've been hearing at night.”

“I think so. Maybe.”

Antonia was halfway across the room, any hint of frailty now gone. “Are you going to sit there and make me wait for you, for heaven's sake?”

“Right behind you.” I made it to the door just ahead of her and opened it.

With an unspoken agreement, we looked about before we moved across the hall to the flight of stairs. We didn't see anyone between the library and our arrival at the attic, three stories up. Antonia managed the climb almost as well as I did.

“I call it the attic, but originally it was the children's nursery.” She turned the knob. The light from the hallway filtered in around us as we looked through the doorway.

Into chaos.

A
NTONIA
switched on the overhead light. The curved walls were high, perhaps eleven or twelve feet, and painted a soft yellow. The roof ended in a peak. We were in one of the cupolas visible from the front of the home. The ceiling was red and gold, trimmed with tassels of woven brocade. It was designed to look like the underside of a merry-go-round. At floor level, the walls were decorated with horses, tigers and hippos, caught midprance in a never-ending parade.

This whimsical backdrop made the destruction in the room more violent. Neatly labeled boxes were torn and discarded, their contents scattered around the room. Shredded children's artwork covered the floor. Several cedar trunks were open or turned over. Beaded dresses and several boas had been ripped to pieces. A mahogany vanity sat empty, its drawers flung across the room, the mirror shattered.

A rolltop desk stood to one side. The drawers were out,
the contents dumped. I walked closer and tried to avoid the papers that cluttered the floor. There were old diplomas, certificates and land deeds among the strewn papers. Antonia came up behind me.

“Last week when you were up here, after you heard the noises, was it like this?”

Antonia surveyed the damage. “Of course not. I never would have left it like this. Things had been moved, but this . . .”

I picked up the papers at my feet. “There are certificates and land deeds in here. Look, it's your high school diploma.”

Antonia took the yellowed paper. “A long time ago.” She pointed to the floor. “What are those?”

I knelt and studied the yellowed forms. “Birth certificates.”

Antonia took the papers. “The three of them.”

“Right. One for each child.”

“Don't be sarcastic.” She looked around the room. “These are duplicates. All the originals are at the bank, in the safe deposit.”

I placed the papers on the desk. “Why the anger, the destruction? If this was Marvin, why would he be filled with such hate?”

“I don't have any idea. There isn't anything here anyone would want. Not anyone outside the family. Just things of sentimental value. Except the jewelry, of course.”

She stopped and moved toward the vanity.

“Antonia, what is it?”

“There's a gun—was a gun—in the bottom drawer here.” She reached in. “It's gone.”

“We need to call Lucas. This is more than anger. It's desperation.” I looked around the room. “Where did you keep the jewelry?”

Antonia pointed to one of the drawers on the floor. It was empty. “Here, in an old pink cigar box announcing the birth of Chantal. Men used to pass around cigars, you know, when their children were born. Their big accomplishment. I wonder if they still do that.”

I searched and found the box lying on its side. It had a baby picture on a pink background and announced, “It's a girl!” on its cover. Picking it up, I showed it to Antonia. “Nothing here.”

Antonia set the diploma and certificates on the top of the desk and made her way to the door. “It's time to have a talk with Marvin.”

We made our way down the stairs, where Antonia grabbed a heavy black shawl. The fog was thicker than when I'd arrived, and it danced around us as we walked from the back of the house to Marvin's office. We didn't speak. The night air swallowed any noise our steps might have made.

When we reached the office, the sounds of a televised boxing match drifted through the window. We made our way around to the front door of the apartment. The lights were off but through the curtains the television glowed, and the announcer declared the winner of the match.

Knocking, we waited. And waited. Antonia tapped her foot. She was clearly losing patience.

“Try the knob.”

“I'm really not sure that's a good idea.”

She moved forward. “I'll do it.”

“What if he's asleep or we surprise him in his underwear?”

Antonia looked at me then started to reach for the door handle.

I
really
didn't want to catch Marvin in his underwear. I grabbed her cane and, using the silver handle, started pounding on the door.

Antonia reached for my arm. “Stop that racket! You're giving me a headache. I don't think he's here.”

“Where else would he be?”

“Maybe he went into town.” She walked down the front steps and peered through the fog. “No, his truck's still here.”

“Let's check the office.”

We turned and made our way to the other side of the building. The office light was on and there wasn't any movement.

Antonia came up beside me. “I'm never here this time of night. Usually when I need him it's during the day and I just walk in.”

The image of Marvin, clad in nothing but his underwear and a scowl, was still with me.

“Just do me a favor and knock first.”

I stepped over the flower border and looked in through the window. Nothing seemed out of place. Bookcases ran along one wall, with a small seating area to one side.

Antonia used the head of her cane to rap on the door.

“It's open.” She pushed it with her cane.

My eyes settled on the desk just below the window. The papers and racing forms were still there, shoved to one side. So were the “Viva Las Vegas” coffee mug and the letter opener. Actually, just the handle of the letter opener. I couldn't see the rest because it was buried in Marvin's back.

I wanted to run, but my legs wouldn't move. His face was about six inches from mine and his eyes were shut. Without the letter opener and the big red spot that had now reached his collar, he could have been asleep.

Dots appeared before my eyes and I choked down air in short, quick breaths.

At some point Antonia came up to stand beside me. “Right in the back.”

I looked at her. She craned her neck to get a better look and was taking it pretty well. Better than I was, I had to admit. I wasn't so good with bodies. Or blood. I kept trying to breathe.

“I want to go in and look around.”

“You're kidding, right?” I nodded toward Marvin. “Do you see him?”

“Of course I do. I don't think we both have to go in.”

“I can't let you go alone.” What was I saying? “I mean, we don't need to go in at all. What we need to do is call the police.”

“I'm the most familiar with this room and Marvin. I might see things the police won't. It simply makes sense.”

“I think the police might have a different opinion if we asked them.”

“Five minutes isn't going to make a difference.” Antonia nodded toward Marvin. “Not to him, anyway.”

“Antonia!”

“Well, look at him. He won't mind. One quick peek and we call Lucas.”

I peered through the darkness to the main house. We'd left the lights on in the library. The peach walls glowed. The smell of wood smoke from the fireplace reached me. The night was quiet, without the sounds of sirens announcing that, against my better judgment, I was about to enter the scene of a murder. Again.

Antonia moved to the door. “Look. We won't even have to touch the doorknob.”

I took a deep breath. “Well, then, no problem. Stroll right in.”

The sarcasm was wasted, and Antonia entered the office.

“I agree with your assessment the police won't grasp the necessity of our entering the premises. We'll keep this to ourselves.”

Right. Good idea.

Antonia crossed the room and walked up behind the skewered Marvin.

My options were to follow her or remain in the doorway. I followed.

We stood there for a few moments behind the body. He sat in the desk chair. His head rested on the winery ledger, opened as though at some point in the evening he'd been working. The “Viva Las Vegas”
mug was half-full. I stuck one finger into the liquid.

“It's still warm.”

My eyes drifted across the room to the bookcase next to the front door. Something under the bottom shelf caught the light from the desk lamp.

I walked over and with the edge of my shoe I nudged the shiny item out a few inches.

Antonia followed. “My mother's brooch. I last saw it in the cigar box upstairs.”

I moved it back into place. “We need to leave everything as it is.”

Antonia returned to the center of the room, directly behind Marvin. “It looks as though someone came up on him while he was sitting here and stabbed him.”

Marvin's chair was rolled squarely up to the desk. “Wait a minute. This isn't right.”

“What isn't right? He was sitting at his desk.”

“Yes.”

“Possibly working.”

“Okay, yes.” I nodded.

“Somebody crept in and stabbed him in the back.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? Clearly he was stabbed in the back.”

“Yes.”

Antonia thumped her cane. “Explain.”

I pointed at the letter opener. “Do you recognize it?”

“Of course I recognize it. It's my letter opener. Marvin kept it on the desk.”

“He was stabbed in the back with the letter opener.
In the back
. The letter opener was kept on the desk.” I moved behind Marvin. “There's no way someone could have reached the letter opener without Marvin knowing the person was there.”

I turned toward the door of the office. “The murderer didn't sneak in here planning to kill Marvin while he was sitting at his desk. Anyone coming here to stab him would have had a knife on them. This was spontaneous. Marvin knew the person was here. Marvin knew them. He invited them in. What about the brooch? How did it get on the floor and what does it have to do with anything?”

Antonia crossed back to the bookcase. “Maybe the murderer was stealing it and that infernal racket you made with my cane on the door startled them. They dropped it and couldn't take the time to look for it. That's why the door was ajar. Or maybe the killer was someone Marvin owed money to. Marvin liked to gamble. We know this.”

I held up my hand. “It doesn't fit. Unless you think someone came in here earlier and took the letter opener to use as a murder weapon later, Marvin turned his back on whoever was
here, to sit at the desk. While the person was still here. Why would he do that?”

Antonia nodded. “To look at something.”

“Yes.”

“The brooch.”

“Yes.”

Antonia appeared to be working through it. “But that means he hadn't seen it before.”

“I don't think so, no.”

“But then, that means Marvin wasn't the one who stole it from the attic. Someone else was up there.”

I rubbed my eyes. “I told you how I found Marvin watching the winery from the top of my hill. What if he was watching someone?”

“That was after Todd's death. What would he be watching?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Beats me. I'm working through it as I go along. Let's say he saw something or someone the night of the murder. If it was someone here, he's had time to tell them, maybe threaten or blackmail them. Maybe he was just keeping an eye on the person. Maybe he had them do something.”

Antonia held up her hand. “Maybe your imagination is getting the best of you. You said it's possible someone came in here earlier and got the letter opener to use at a later time.”

“Why?”

Antonia waved her hand. “Maybe the killer wanted to cast suspicion on someone here, so they made a point to use the letter opener. We know Marvin liked to gamble. Maybe he owed someone money, someone outside the family. Possibly there was a confrontation.”

“Antonia, he was stabbed in the back. No confrontation.
And Marvin turned his back on the person, so it must have been someone he knew, someone he wasn't especially worried about. Besides, people who are owed money, especially money from gambling, aren't very likely to kill the gambling goose, so to speak. It just doesn't make much sense to kill them. If Marvin owed money, how likely is it he's going to get around to paying it back now?”

Antonia walked toward the door without responding. I knew what she was doing.

“Antonia, I know it was easier for you to ask for my help when there was a chance someone outside your family might possibly be the culprit. I'm sure you were still hoping I was wrong about that night. A flash of car lights against the window, anything other than someone you know returning into your home after doing something unspeakable.”

Antonia turned at the door. “I won't deny what you're saying. I was hoping your approaching it from a different perspective would lead to a different solution, possibly a solution that doesn't have someone close to me capable of doing something like this.”

“Antonia, if you want me to stop right now, I will. The police will figure it out. Chief Lucas is a bright guy. But I have to tell you, it's someone you know, probably someone you care about. You know it too. It isn't going away.”

I walked up to her and edged the door open with my shoulder.