Pressing the Issue Page 25

  “He linked you to Professor Loveland and his death and told you so. What happened next? Did he threaten to call the police? Is that when you raced to the utility room and grabbed the winepress he’d stowed there? Did you hope by killing him with it that you could implicate Hannah in his death? They’d fought. You were a key witness.”

  I glimpsed the bloody gauntlet lying beside the steamer trunk.

  Sean caught me looking in that direction and seized it. He tossed it back inside and slammed the trunk’s lid with such force that Melody shrieked. Then he dashed across the tent and grabbed the clay hammer and the mallet off the pottery tool table. “You think you’re so smart.” He moved toward the rear of the tent, his intent obvious—to disable me and reclaim Melody.

  “C’mon.” I hauled Melody to her feet and steered her around the pottery wheel stations, toppling stools as we passed to create an obstacle for her husband. “Your wife is leaving you, Sean. Whether today or a month or a year from now, she will leave. She never loved you. She only married you because you convinced her you could save her.”

  “I did save her.”

  “You let her believe she killed the professor.”

  As we neared the steamer trunk, Melody staggered. “Buck up,” I urged.

  One of the stacks of boxes as well as the cartons on the floor blocked our exit, but if we could squeeze between the trunk and the tent wall . . .

  “Melody, stop!” Sean hurdled over the second stool and the third.

  Melody banged her toe on the trunk’s corner and winced.

  “Melody, I’m ordering you,” Sean bellowed as he clambered over the fourth stool.

  I heard the scrabbling of claws right before Tigger darted beneath a pottery wheel station and attacked Sean’s bare ankle.

  “Off, cat!” Sean shook his leg.

  Tigger tumbled sideways. Brave kitty, he didn’t whimper.

  “The professor had to be brought down a peg, Melody.” Sean continued toward us. “You agreed with that.”

  “Murder is more than a peg,” I said as I wedged my foot between the trunk and tent wall. I shoved; the trunk didn’t budge an inch.

  “He had to be taught a lesson, honey,” Sean said. “He fawned over you. He told you what an amazing artist you were. I told you the same thing, but you didn’t look at me like you looked at him.”

  “No, Sean. I didn’t look at him. Ever. You’re wr-wrong,” Melody stammered. “I didn’t. You’re wrong.”

  “I couldn’t let him win your heart.”

  “How about Nick?” I goaded, realizing what kind of man Sean was at his core—a dominating egomaniac who inspired fear and resentment, not trust and respect. “Did he look at her with lust?”

  “Don’t, Jenna,” Melody begged.

  “Nick was a dead man the moment I saw him. He was a lout. A no-good.” Sean bolted around the last pottery station and paused. Cartons blocked his path as they had ours.

  “But he won her heart,” I said as I tried again to move the steamer trunk. No luck. Melody and I were trapped. I whirled on Sean, arms raised, ready to defend us both.

  He raised the claw hammer overhead.

  “Did he undress her with his eyes?” I taunted.

  “Yes.”

  “Did he make her blush?”

  Sean uttered a guttural rumbling sound. “He wanted her in the shameless way men always want women. He didn’t put her on a pedestal. He didn’t adore her.”

  “She was ready to run off with him,” I said.

  “No,” Sean rasped.

  “No,” Melody mewled, but her voice held no conviction.

  Sean waved the hammer close to my face. “Release my wife and you won’t get hurt.”

  “Gee, why don’t I believe you?”

  Tigger sprang on top of the stack of boxes closest to Sean and hissed. Sean jeered at him.

  Thanks to the distraction, I maneuvered Melody to the left, through a narrow slot between cartons. We wound up in the space between the display tables with no place to go, blocked yet again by more boxes.

  “That’s far enough,” Sean said and hurled the clay hammer.

  I ducked just in time—the hammer’s head whizzed by my left ear—but I lost hold of Melody. She tried to grip the table for balance but missed and crumpled to the floor.

  “I’m going to kill you, Jenna,” Sean said, wielding the remaining weapon—the mallet. “I’m going to bash in your skull. All that will be left is a pile of mush.”

  Fear lodged in my throat. I tamped it down and rose to my full height. “Speaking of bashing, Sean, you destroyed Nick’s cell phone to get rid of the record of his call to your wife, didn’t you? Then you stole a hat off the coat rack to disguise yourself and fled through the vineyard. His brother Alan heard you. He’ll verify it was you.”

  “He heard me?” Sean said, catching my misstep.

  “Alan has face blindness,” Melody said.

  Sean sneered. “Then he can’t prove a thing. You have nothing on me.”

  “We have enough,” I said, “Alan identified you when you were in my shop earlier.”

  “Worthless in a court of law.”

  Sean kicked a carton out of the way and stumbled forward, the rear display table the only thing standing between him and me. He leaned forward and swung the mallet. It whooshed close to my chin. I dropped to my knees and considered scrambling toward the exit, but I couldn’t leave Melody behind. I didn’t think he would hurt her, but I wasn’t certain.

  Where were Bailey and Cinnamon? What was taking them so long?

  “The police have a heel print,” I said. The lie was brazen, but Sean didn’t know that. “It will match the shoes you wore with your costume.”

  “Liar.”

  He knocked packing supplies to the floor, crawled over the rear table, and wailed at me with the mallet. The head connected with my shoulder. Pain radiated down my arm.

  “Sean, stop!” Melody screamed.

  “Hush, woman!” Petruchio couldn’t have said it more forcefully. “Sit there and bite your tongue, or else . . .”

  “Or else what?” To my surprise, she scrambled to her feet.

  Her defiance didn’t last long. He backhanded her and sent her reeling over a box. She landed in a heap by the worktable.

  So much for treating her like porcelain, I mused, which gave me an idea. I reached overhead, seized a piece of navy blue pottery, and cracked its neck on the table’s edge. The remaining piece wasn’t long, but it was sharp.

  With a forceful thrust, I jabbed and connected with Sean’s bare calf. He howled and bent to take another swing at me. His thigh was a perfect target; I stabbed again.

  At the same moment, Cinnamon raced into the tent. “Stand up, Mr. Beaufort. Hands behind your back.” She aimed her gun. “Now.”

  Cursing me and my entire family, Sean rose to his full height.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Bailey said as she rushed into the tent with Bucky on her heels. “They had left the diner. I caught them right as they were getting into their car.”

  “Jenna, fill me in,” Cinnamon said as she handcuffed Sean. “What is going on?”

  “This man’s real name is Ballantyne, Chief. Sean Ballantyne, former professor at Ohio State. He’s wanted in connection with the death of an art professor.”

  “That’s a lie,” Sean said. “Melody killed him.”

  “No, she didn’t.” As speedily as I could, I laid out the specifics for Cinnamon. When I finished, I added, “By the way, you’ll find one of Sean’s costumes in that trunk. I believe it will have Nick’s blood on it. There’s a gauntlet in the trunk, too. It belongs to Alan Baldini, but he reported it stolen. I think there’s dried blood on it, and I would bet dollars to dimes it’s not the crow’s blood.”

  Needless to say, Cinnamon wasn’t happy that I’d taken it upon myself to confront him even though I swore on my mother’s grave—and Bailey backed me up—that I’d come to the Pier to question Melody and only Melody. The way Cinnamon sai
d We’ll talk let me know I was in for a long, not-so-friendly chat.

  Chapter 25

  Three weeks later, Bailey’s and Tito’s families and friends celebrated their union on the verandah at Baldini Vineyards. The weather was near perfect: a gentle breeze, temperatures in the seventies, and blue skies with a hint of cloud cover that would make wedding photographs a snap.

  The person presiding over the wedding was none other than Old Jake, who had obtained his certificate to officiate after realizing that one of his greatest joys in life was bringing two people together in matrimony. He concluded Tito’s vows and addressed Bailey. Though typically gnarled and weathered from driving the tractor around on the beach, Jake, like the other male attendees, looked particularly distinguished in his tuxedo. What was it about tuxedos that upped a man’s game?

  “Bailey Bird”—Jake cleared his throat as he drew the wedding to its conclusion—“do you take this man to be your lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part?”

  “I do,” Bailey said, her voice catching ever so slightly.

  I’d never seen her look more beautiful. Her skin was glowing. Her eye makeup matched the moss green tones of the décor; her lipstick was burgundy. The beading on the neckline of her ecru off-the-shoulder gown glimmered in the sunshine. Her bouquet was exactly as Nick had described—luscious yet subdued. He had made copious notes that the wedding planner—not Hannah; she wasn’t ready to take the lead—had followed. We all felt Nick’s presence at the ceremony. How could we not?

  “I now pronounce you man and wife.” Jake smiled at Tito. “Young man, you may kiss the bride.”

  As they exchanged a sweet kiss, the crowd applauded. The wedding photographer swooped in for a close-up. Alan, having decided that he’d prefer to be a guest at the wedding rather than serve as the wedding photographer, had hired a professional.

  When they came up for air, a guitarist began to play and sing “Hermosa Cariño,” which translates to beautiful love. It is one of Tito’s favorite songs and was a surprise addition from Bailey. She elbowed him and he poked her in return. I was overjoyed to see them so happy.

  Rhett slung an arm around me and said, “May I buy the maid of honor a drink?”

  “You sure may. But, FYI, I’m matron of honor. I was once married.” It was the first time in a long time that I’d mused about David without a pang of guilt wrenching my heart; I took it as a sign that I was healing.

  I clutched Rhett’s elbow and traipsed along the travertine tile, making sure I didn’t trip in my high heels. Bailey had forbidden me to wear flip-flops. Even I had to admit that the knee-length, burgundy-toned scarf dress she’d chosen for me went better with heels. I particularly liked the dramatic drape of the bodice.

  We made our way to the bar, where Cinnamon and Bucky were accepting glasses of white wine. When she caught sight of me, she couldn’t help herself. She glowered.

  “C’mon, let it go,” I begged as I took two glasses of pinot noir and handed one to Rhett. “How long are you going to stay mad at me?”

  When Cinnamon debriefed me, I shared everything that I’d discovered. I reminded her that I had left messages for her numerous times to bring her up to date. For some reason, that hadn’t appeased her. She concluded that I was stupid to look into anything. The word stupid had stung, but I had been smart enough to keep my mouth shut.

  “Please, Cinnamon,” I tried again. “Mahatma Gandhi said, ‘The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.’”

  She straightened the seams of her body-hugging taupe sheath. “Did you memorize that to taunt me?”

  “It happens to be one of my father’s favorites. You know Dad’s penchant for quotations.”

  A reluctant grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, but she didn’t allow it to morph into an out-and-out smile. She is stubborn; I’ll grant her that.

  Rhett jumped in. “Bucky and Cinnamon, I don’t think I’ve said congratulations yet. May you have a long and happy life together.”

  Bucky chortled. “Thanks, bro. If we can ever pick a venue, a date, and a set of wedding songs, we’ll be as happy as—”

  “Don’t say it,” Cinnamon warned. “We will. We’re making headway.”

  “Finding you a dress is not making headway. It’s—”

  “I beg to differ,” I cut in. “That’s probably the most important thing to the bride.”

  Cinnamon shot me a finger. “See? Girlfriends know these things.”

  The fact that she referred to me as her girlfriend meant I was close to being on good terms with her. Close. We would mend bridges soon. We had to. We were nearly family.

  “Speaking of happy couples,” I said, “Alan has asked Hannah to marry him.”

  “Aren’t they moving a little fast?” Rhett asked.

  “Not really. He’s been in love with her for years, and as it turns out, she’s had her eye on him for about the same time.”

  “What about her grandmother?” Cinnamon asked.

  “Alan agreed to sign any contract the woman wants to assure her that he, as the titular head of Baldini Vineyards, is not usurping water rights, nor will he or Hannah ever allow the vineyards to become one entity. If that doesn’t win her over, he’s vowed to stay engaged to Hannah until her grandmother kicks the bucket.”

  “So he’s going to run the vineyard?” Rhett asked.

  “Yep. He asked Frank to stay on as foreman. Frank is happy to do so. He has worked for Baldini Vineyards for decades. Alan will continue to do the books. He’ll also become the spokesman for the product, which the executor for the trust supports.”

  “Happy endings for all,” my father said, joining the conversation.

  “Not necessarily all,” Lola said as she swept the skirt of her chiffon dress to one side and accepted a glass of champagne from the bartender. “Tell them, Jenna.” She took a sip of wine.

  “With the revelation about Sean,” I said, “Melody realized she’d never known him. She has filed for an annulment in Nevada, claiming he coerced her into marriage through fraud. Once that’s completed, she intends to turn herself in to the authorities in Ohio and face the consequences. She would like to live life without fear.”

  “She’ll be exonerated, won’t she?” Rhett turned to Cinnamon for the answer.

  Cinnamon shrugged. “It’s tough to say. It depends on the evidence her attorney can drum up.”

  I raised a finger. “Melody has always been diligent about saving receipts. She’s hoping her lawyer can find a paper trail proving that Sean purchased arsenic.”

  “What about Sean?” Rhett asked.

  “He’s facing charges here first,” Cinnamon said. “By the way, Jenna, I don’t think I told you, but he admitted to being the person sneaking around outside your cottage. He heard you asking Alan questions at Hannah’s stall that day and was worried you might figure out he was the one who sneezed in the vineyard. Deputy Appleby’s arrival scared him off. You don’t have to worry about prowlers.”

  Even though I felt a huge surge of relief, ever since the incident I had been diligent about checking my doors and windows to make sure they were secure. I doubted I would give up the habit any time soon.

  “Jenna, how’s Dolly?” Lola asked.

  “She’s settling into L.A. nicely,” I said. “Last week she texted that she met with the psychic Aunt Vera recommended. The woman sees nothing but positive events in her future.”

  A whoosh of orange streaked by our feet, followed by a streak of black. Tigger and Hershey—Bailey and Tito’s cat—were chasing each other. Tito had been adamant that Hershey attend the wedding and that Tigger come as Hershey’s guest. He’d even put beautiful bows on the cats’ necks.

  “Tigger,” I cried. “Slow down, buddy.”

  Seconds later, Tigger whizzed by me again, followed by Hershey and another streak of orange.

  “W
hat the heck?” I said. “What was that?”

  “A stray.” Alan approached with Hannah, who looked absolutely stunning in a sleek charcoal-colored sheath.

  “A stray?” I said. “She’s not your cat, Alan?”

  “Nope. Can’t have cats around here with my birds of prey. Not to mention there are plenty of wild red-tailed hawks and great horned owls about.”

  I shivered at the notion.

  “She showed up yesterday,” he went on. “I think the aroma of tuna tartar enticed her. Bailey was adamant that we have mounds of the stuff.”

  “How do you know it’s a her?” Rhett asked.

  “Animal anatomy 101,” Alan gibed. “I picked her up. Anybody want a cat? Jenna, I think Tigger likes her.”

  Tigger and the stray were going at it in a friendly way. As they tumbled, they blurred into one big ball of orange. Hershey sat nearby, stoically watching them with fascination.

  Rhett elbowed me. “Love is definitely in the air.”

  I whacked his arm. “Stop.”

  “Speaking of which . . .” He pulled me close and set his mouth next to my ear.

  The warmth of his breath set my insides reeling in a good way.

  Cinnamon wagged a finger. “Uh-uh, no secrets. What did he say?”

  “Nothing,” I replied.

  “No secrets,” the others chimed in unison.

  “Out with it,” Cinnamon ordered.

  I grinned at Rhett and said, “We’ll talk.”

  “You’ll talk?” Lola cried. “About what? C’mon. Are you two—” She wagged a finger between us. “Cary, make them talk.” She nudged my father.

  “Jenna?” he asked.

  “For us to know,” I said.

  Rhett slung his arm around me and guided me away from the group. “You’re a tease.”

  “Who’s calling the kettle black?” I poked him in the ribs. “So, what were you going to say after ‘Speaking of which’?”

  He laughed out loud. “We’ll talk.”

  Reviews

  Thanks so much for reading Pressing the Issue! I hope you loved reading about Jenna and her friends as much I love writing about them. If you enjoyed the book, please take a moment to rate or review it at your favorite online retailer. Every little bit helps.