Deadly Offer (10 page)

“What are my chances of getting the property?” Kohler had asked, not in a demanding way, but in a measured, careful tone.

“Fair. You’re up against the Contento family, and they are formidable competition. As you know, their vineyard abuts Carson Creek and they have long had a wish—” here he spoke delicately—“to acquire more land.” He took a final gulp of his Bloody Mary, wanting another but deciding against it. Kohler had sipped only mineral water.

“There is another interested party, a woman from back East, but she’s nothing to worry about.” After hearing Carlos Gomez’s comment that Selena had chosen Vivian Allen, Wainfield had conducted a little research, and discovered Allen was a former financial planner with limited funds. His records showed that she had actually called his office several weeks earlier, asking about Carson Creek, but had balked at his terms, the same ones he was about to lay out for Kohler.

“If you want me to work for you, I charge a retainer of five percent. I’ll get you the property, and when you settle, my fee comes out of my commission.”

“And what about the fact that you also represent the Contentos?”

Wainfield tried to hide his surprise.
How did he know that
?

“I’ve worked with the Contentos in the past, and yes, I made some initial inquiries for them regarding Carson Creek.” He paused and looked Kohler in the eye. “I work for whoever will pay me, but I have no formal agreement with them at this time.” He didn’t add that he had spoken to Michael Contento hours before and been stonewalled.

For Wainfield, the terse discussion was the last straw. He was sick and tired of Contento’s bullying manner, his constant references to Wainfield’s enormous commissions every time a property transferred ownership. Even Andrea’s considerable charm couldn’t soften the bitterness he felt from years of being treated like dirt.

Selena Thompson’s death hadn’t played out the way he’d imagined. Wainfield had fully expected her brothers to hire him to sell the vineyard, and was flabbergasted to meet the young Asian realtor from Pacific Coast and learn that she would be handling the sale. What the hell did Darby Farr know about wine country, or selling a vineyard? Might as well hire Ann Johnson! At least she lived in the valley.

His dismay was short lived when he snuck into Selena’s office and managed to get his hands on Carson Creek’s multiple offers. Looking them over, he’d realized that Fritz Kohler was the horse to back. He gave a smug smile. One way or another, he was going to profit from the sale of Carson Creek Estate & Winery. Thanks to this brunch, it appeared his plan had worked perfectly.

Kohler rose and flexed his biceps, a gesture that seemed almost unconscious. “Shall I meet you at your office to sign something?”

“We can head over there right now if you’d like.”

The big man nodded, and for a second, Wainfield thought he glimpsed something simmering behind the brown eyes. Anger? Sadness? He couldn’t be sure, and truthfully, didn’t give a damn.

Wainfield steered his charge toward the door. “Follow me. I’m in the black Mercedes parked over in the corner.”

Kohler nodded again and headed for a hybrid sedan emblazoned with “Power Yoga” on either side. Harrison frowned.
How tacky,
he thought.

He crossed the lot toward his car as a red Karmann Ghia turned into the restaurant. Behind the wheel was Darby Farr, and beside her a military-looking man Harrison had never seen.

He narrowed his eyes as he unlocked his Mercedes. She was trouble, he could tell. One of these young agents who thought she knew everything there was to know about selling property. He slid into his seat, welcoming the softness of the leather, and peered into his rear-view mirror. Darby Farr and the stranger were out of the car and strolling toward the restaurant.

Fritz Kohler wanted Carson Creek and Fritz Kohler was going to get it, it was as simple as that. Wainfield started the engine and crept slowly toward his new client’s car. Darby Farr would be a fool to get in the way.
And if she does, I’ll simply deal with her.

He signaled and Fritz Kohler began to follow.

Eight

“Butternut squash ravioli,” mused
Miles. “Either that or the braised rabbit. What do you think?”

“How about both?” Darby grinned as she peered over her menu at Miles. “I promise to try a few bites.”

“Terrific. And we’ll need one of the local wines to go along with that.” The waiter materialized and Darby asked for Remy’s signature salad of greens, pear, walnut, and locally produced blue cheese. Miles ordered the rabbit with a side of ravioli, as well as a bottle of Chardonnay from Contento Family Vineyards.

“Selena’s wine isn’t on the list, is it?” Miles asked.

“No. I think she sold mainly to wine club customers and people who stopped at the vineyard. For a small winery such as Carson Creek, doing business that way makes sense, and can really be quite lucrative.”

He buttered a whole grain roll and took a bite. “It certainly seems like she had this business figured out. Why did she want to sell? Was it totally her health issues?”

Darby shrugged. “Dan says it was all getting too much for her. Running a business is fine when things are going well, but when they aren’t …”

“Such as the sabotage …”

“That’s right. It’s a whole different story.” She paused. “Money is another factor. A few months ago, I lent ET some funds which he in turn gave to his sister. I’m not sure why Selena needed it—perhaps it was just the continued progress of her disease.”

“Guillain Barré syndrome is devastating,” Miles said softly. “It’s not a disease that can be underestimated.” He leaned back as the bottle of wine arrived, perused the label, and nodded. The waiter uncorked the bottle and poured a small amount in Miles’ glass.

“I think I’ll have the lady do the honors,” he said. “I’m new to this whole Ventano Valley scene and she’s been here a few days.”

Darby smiled and took the glass. She swirled the buttery yellow liquid and then inhaled the scent of pears and apples. She took a sip and let it linger a moment. “Delicious,” she announced. Miles grinned happily.

Once their meals arrived and they’d begun eating, Darby asked Miles about his time in Afghanistan. “It must have been incredibly difficult to live in a war zone,” she said. “I can’t imagine the things you saw.”

“I wouldn’t want you to. Some of the things—they were the very stuff of nightmares.” He looked down at his plate and then back up again. “But I saw acts of kindness as well. Soldiers helping mothers with children, young girls giving bunches of wild flowers to men in uniform—little things that meant so much because of where we were. I witnessed the tenderness of families, even in the harshest of circumstances.” His eyes took on a haunted look. “But it was very difficult, all the same.”

“Are you finished with that assignment?”

He nodded. “Yes. I find myself at a bit of a crossroads.” He met her eyes. “I’m not sure what the future holds.”

Darby took a sip of wine. She wasn’t sure either. She liked Miles, but were her feelings stronger than that? She had so many balls in the air—her career in Southern California, her obligations to real estate offices in Maine and Florida, and the unresolved mystery of her grandfather’s involvement in World War II atrocities in China. The buzz of her vibrating smart phone interrupted the silence.

“Miles, I am so sorry.” She took the phone out of her purse and glanced at the number. “It’s my office—I’d better take it.” She answered the phone.

Claudia Jones, the new agent hired to assist Darby, explained that an offer on Doug Henderson’s bungalow had come in that morning.

“You’re kidding!” Darby exclaimed. “You just listed it on Friday.”

“I know,” the sales agent chuckled. “I showed it to a cute young couple that same day, and they are totally smitten.” She paused. “I’m trying to get in touch with Doug to let him know, but his cell doesn’t answer, and the gift shop’s number is disconnected.”

Darby frowned. “How odd. What about e-mail?”

“Doesn’t seem that he’s looking at it. What should I do, Boss?”

“Scan the offer and send it to me, along with all of Doug’s contact information—anything you’ve got. I’ll deal with it from here.” She thanked Claudia and hung up.

“Doug is my next-door neighbor in Mission Beach,” she told Miles as she stabbed a forkful of salad. “He decided to go to Hawaii and live with a woman he met over the Internet.”

“Isn’t it amazing that so many people are connecting with these on-line dating services?” He grinned. “And to think that you and I met the old-fashioned way—pure chance.”

Darby smiled, remembering the rush of feelings that accompanied her first encounter with Miles Porter. “Here’s the catch: Doug had never met Rhonda in person.”

“What? He flew to the islands for a blind date?”

Darby nodded. “I advised him not to list his house but he was adamant. Now someone’s come along to buy it, and my agent at the office can’t find him.” She frowned. “I hope he’s okay.”

“The number one rule with Internet dating is to take things slowly,” Miles intoned. “Chatting on-line makes couples feel that they’ve known each other forever, creating a false sense of foundation. It’s easy to move too quickly and then the results can be heartbreaking.”

Darby raised her eyebrows and Miles laughed.

“Remember, I’m an investigative journalist! There are very few things I haven’t written about.” His pushed his plate to the side. “Your friend Doug is probably fine. He’s holed up in some little love nest with Donna—”

“Rhonda!” Darby laughed.

“Okay, Rhonda, and they are blissfully unaware that the rest of the world even exists. That’s the kind of place I’d like to take you one of these days, if I can ever get you to stop working.”

Darby looked at him with a playful smile. “Hey, I’m not the one who just came back from a war.”

“Fair enough.” His tone turned sober. “When you get Doug’s information, I’ll be happy to see what I can ferret out.”

Darby felt a rush of gratitude. It was wonderful to have a friend like Miles. Why would she want to ruin this friendship by letting their relationship head in a more amorous direction?

She watched the muscles in his forearms as he reached for the wine and poured them both a little more. Once again she caught a whiff of bayberry, light yet pungent, his signature scent. He looked at her and smiled, and she wanted to reach out and stroke the planes of his face, knowing they would feel like sculpted marble. She exhaled and took a sip of the Chardonnay, wondering if her face betrayed her emotions.
Uh oh
, she thought.
I am in deep trouble.

———

Carlos and ET were both cordial to Miles, but their thoughts were clearly on their sister’s funeral service. ET seemed especially distracted, and Darby asked what she could do to help.

“I hate to impose, but I wonder if you might go to the Contentos and finalize a few details with Margo. She has everything arranged, and yet—” He spread his hands. “I am not sure I like the space where the reception will be held. The little chapel is beautiful, but the caves—” He sighed. “I hate to say anything, because they have been so kind.”

“I’m happy to go and speak with her,” Darby assured him. “I’ll head over with Miles right now.”

The journalist nodded. “I’ll take my own car and depart from there.” He shook hands with ET and Carlos. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said.

The brothers nodded sadly as they left.

———

Margo Contento was tall, blonde, and energetic, with a ready smile and warm demeanor. Dressed in gray wool slacks and a gray cashmere sleeveless sweater, she met Miles and Darby in the tasting room of Contento Vineyards, a spacious room with large windows overlooking the fields and hills. She grabbed a soft pink shawl from a chair and motioned for them to follow.

“I’m glad to see you have jackets. We’re headed to the caves, and it’s a little chilly down there.”

Miles glanced at Darby. “I hope you know I’m afraid of bats,” he whispered, giving her arm a quick squeeze.

Darby’s skin tingled. Whether it was from the chilly air or Miles’ touch, she wasn’t sure. It was still unseasonably cold, and as she hugged her jean jacket more tightly around her slender frame, she wondered whether the frost protection system would be operable tonight.

Margo led the way through a garden blooming with fall perennials and into a building housing the working part of the vineyard. “The entrance to the caves is from the tank room,” she said, leading them into a spotlessly clean room with stainless tanks lining the walls. “When we crush the grapes, the juice is gravity-fed into these fermentation tanks. Once the wine has fermented, we transfer it into oak barrels to age.” She stopped before two thick metal doors and turned to face Miles and Darby.

“Ready?” She pulled open the doors. “Welcome to the Contento Caves. Come on in.”

Darby and Miles followed Margo into a long, arched hallway lined with oak barrels. Contrary to the image conjured up by the word “cave,” the space was light, bright, and clean, constructed of bricks in the manner of a gothic church.

“Impressive,” Miles said. “Not at all what I was expecting.”

“Thank you,” Margo said. “This is the main cave. There are two additional caves, but this is the one we use for functions.” They came to what appeared to be the end of the corridor, but was in fact a huge, elaborate room, dominated by a banquet table under a crystal chandelier that twinkled with the fire of hundreds of crystals. In one corner stood a grand piano, in another, an oak lectern.

“We host private parties here, conduct tours, and age our wine as well.” She smiled. “It’s a terrific event space. I have to give my great grandfather Vincenzo credit. He was the one who came up with the idea.”

“But these caves are new, right?” asked Darby.

“Three years old. I was on a trip to Europe when I met one of the world’s leading builders of wine caves. I brought him back here to convince my father that we needed to create these.” She waved her hands wide. “The bricks are reclaimed from an Italian villa that had to be demolished, and the chandelier comes from a castle near Vienna. We wanted to make the caves look timeless, as if they had always been here.” She paused. “Old Vincenzo Contento did the same thing, back in his day.” She grinned. “I like to call the original one our ‘starter’ cave.”

“Does it still exist?” asked Miles.

She nodded. “Not for long. It’s in the basement of the old barn, and water has eroded some of the walls. I’m afraid it’s become a safety hazard.” She put her hand against one of the brick walls. “It wasn’t quite as well constructed as all this, but then again, it probably cost a tiny fraction of what this project cost.”

She looked around the space and then back at Darby. “If ET and Carlos aren’t happy with using the caves, we can certainly take over the tasting room. I felt this would be more private, but I’m not sure they shared my sentiments.”

“I think it is a lovely space, but perhaps the tasting room would be more in line with what they have in mind,” Darby said tactfully.

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Margo said, glancing at her watch. “Please excuse me. I’ve got to go and meet with somebody about flowers for tomorrow.” She gave Darby a little smile. “Please assure Carlos and ET that everything will be beautiful. I loved Selena—we all did.”

Darby and Miles exited the caves behind Margo, then lingered looking over the hillside.

“Those caves are incredible,” Darby said. “I’ve never seen anything like them in this country. I felt like I was in Italy or France, under one of the great cathedrals.”

“I agree. I wonder why your friend ET doesn’t share our sentiments?”

“I think I know why. He has mild claustrophobia, so being in a space without windows doesn’t sit well. I imagine the Contento’s tasting area with the wall to ceiling glass made him feel much better.”

“One does get the sense one is underground,” mused Miles. He seemed to be thinking about something else, and a moment later he continued, “There must have been quite a bit of press when those caves were constructed. I wonder if that’s why the Contento name rings some sort of bell with me.”

“Possibly. Their wine has been winning lots of awards—that could be it as well.”

“Yes.” He turned to face Darby. “Well, my sweet, I hate to say this, but it’s probably time for me to push off. You have duties with Carlos and ET, and I should let you get to it.” He paused. “Remember, you’re to send me that information on your neighbor, Doug. I’m happy to have a look at it this afternoon, when I get back to San Francisco.”

“That would be great. It’s not like him to be non-communicative, and I’ll admit that I’m worried.” She looked up at Miles’ face. Concern and compassion showed there, and she blushed. “I’m sorry. I feel like I’m giving you all these things to do, when you just came back from a war.” She made her tone lighter. “When will I see you again? I think it’s my turn to buy you a meal.”

He grinned. “I like the sound of that. I’m at your disposal, madam, depending on whether you’re here or back in Mission Beach. I have a friend in San Francisco and I can stay at her flat for as long as I like.” He grinned again. “She’s an old Brit, a buddy of my mother’s, a surrogate auntie if you will. Absolutely spoils me quite rotten when I visit. If you need me, I’m only an hour or so away.”

“Great.” She gave him a hug as he climbed into his rental car.

“I’ll call you tonight,” he promised.

She nodded, and he pulled away.

———

“Who are you?”

The question was French accented, and asked in such a penetrating manner that Darby was startled.

“I’m Darby Farr, a friend of Selena Thompson’s brother.” She had walked the few steps to her car when a man had materialized from one of the production buildings and hurried over. With one hand over her eyes to block the glare of the sun, she examined her inquisitor. He was short, with dark hair just beginning to gray, dark eyes, and full, red lips which he now pursed. “I’m staying at Carson Creek.”

“I see. Who was that man with you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

As a matter of fact, I do mind you asking
. “A friend.” She placed the key for her Karmann Ghia between two fingers, a self-defense move she performed almost unconsciously. “And you are … ?”