Jillian smiled. “The market price of the Reserve just quadrupled in value. What’s more, the glow will spread to the other labels. When Warner gets past the shock of having to acknowledge his own bad judgment in wives and CEOs, he’ll be thrilled.”
“Hard to believe that everything that’s happened here in Summer River in the last few days had its origins in the past,” Quinn said.
Lucy used her toe to give the swing a little push. “In my work, we learn that lesson early on.”
“Got to say it’s usually true in my line, too,” Mason said.
Deke nodded somberly. “Goes for my former profession, that’s for damn sure.”
Quinn raised his brows. “War fighting?”
Deke sucked up some lemonade through the straw and nodded. “If you want to know what makes people fight wars, look at the history involved.”
Jillian turned to Mason. “What made you realize that you could trust Quinn this afternoon? Why call him on your way to the winery? Didn’t you think that he was the one who had drugged you and tried to force you into the river?”
Mason looked at Quinn. “You were on my list of suspects for a while. But something kept bothering me. You had no way of knowing I was going to show up in your office that day. It was possible, of course, that you kept a supply of the hallucinogen handy in your office to use on folks like me who came around asking too many questions. But I had seen Beth shortly before I spoke with you. She knew I was on my way to talk to you.”
“She realized that you were going to question me, and that made her very nervous,” Quinn said. “She told police that she called Dillon immediately and told him what was happening. She said there might be an opportunity to drug you because I always offer my guests something to drink. Evidently, Dillon tried to talk her out of it because he didn’t trust her to do the job right. But she ignored him. She got a supply of the drug from her lab and followed you into the tasting room.”
“No impulse control,” Mason said.
“When Quinn called Letty and requested the coffee and the tea, Beth saw her chance,” Jillian said. “She offered to pour the coffee and the tea because Letty was busy with the tourists out front. But she made sure that Letty was the one who carried the tray to the office.”
“Did you ever suspect Letty?” Quinn asked.
Mason shook his head. “Not for long. She had no close ties to the Colfaxes, Dillon or Summer River, for that matter. For her, working in the wine-tasting room was just a part-time job. But you took the tray from her when she came into the room and I heard you dealing with the sugar packet while my back was turned.”
“So I was the obvious suspect,” Quinn said. He looked at Lucy. “How did Beth manage to drug Sara and Mary?”
“Like most of the other longtime residents of Summer River she knew Sara and Mary’s routine,” Lucy said. “She was aware that when they made their weekend trips to the coast they always ordered a picnic basket from Becky’s Garden café. If the weather was good, they stopped to eat at the site of the old commune. On that particular day, Beth made sure to be at Becky’s when Sara arrived to pick up the basket.”
Deke spoke up. “Becky remembers that Beth was wearing a small backpack and that she offered to carry the basket out to the car. She went outside with the basket and stowed it in the back of Sara’s car while Sara and Mary paid the bill and chatted with Becky.”
“There were two plastic bottles of water in the picnic basket,” Mason added. “Beth replaced them with two bottles that she had brought with her in the backpack.”
“Which she had drugged and bottled and labeled herself,” Lucy said. “Just like she used to do in the old days when she supplied Brinker with his special energy drinks. There was some risk that Sara and Mary might not stop at the old commune site on that day, but the forecast was fine and Beth knew the odds were good that the two would follow their usual routine.”
“But it was Cecil Dillon who followed them and killed them,” Mason said.
“Bastard,” Lucy whispered.
Mason tightened his arm around her.
“How did Beth and Cecil Dillon meet?” Jillian asked.
“Dillon knew who she was right from the start,” Mason explained. “In fact, he knew who most of the players were before he formulated his plans, because he did his research.”
“But how did he learn Brinker’s secrets?” Jillian asked.
“When he discovered that he had a half-brother who had disappeared under mysterious circumstances and a wealthy father who had abandoned him, Dillon became obsessed with getting what he considered his rightful inheritance,” Lucy said. “He hit pay dirt when he tracked down Brinker’s elderly aunt.”
“Brinker was too smart to keep the rape videos and his notes in the house he rented here in Summer River that year,” Mason said. “Instead, he made periodic trips to San Francisco to visit his aunt. He stored the videos and the notes in a suitcase in her basement. And that’s where they sat until Cecil Dillon tracked her down. When he started asking questions about the half-brother he had never known, she felt sorry for him and gave him the only thing she had of Brinker’s.”
“The suitcase in the basement,” Quinn said. “The videos had probably deteriorated over time, but the notebooks would have been in good shape.”
“The videos were of no use to Dillon,” Mason said. “He wasn’t interested in small-time blackmail. But when he read the notebooks he knew that he had everything he needed to start plotting his revenge.”
A sharp, agonized look flashed across Jillian’s face. “What happened to the contents of the suitcase?”
“Dillon told the cops that he destroyed everything in the suitcase,” Mason said. “For what it’s worth, I’m inclined to believe him. So does Whitaker. Nothing showed up when the cops searched Dillon’s apartment and his office.”
Jillian bit her lip. Tears glittered in her eyes. “But there’s no way to be absolutely certain.”
Quinn reached out and caught her hand in his. “I told you, honey, it doesn’t matter. If those old videos ever reappear, we’ll deal with the situation.”
Jillian gave him a misty smile and tightened her grip on his hand.
Quinn looked at Mason. “I know Dillon. If he did keep the cache of blackmail materials, they would have been on his computer. He never let it out of his sight.”
“Which is where my brother, Aaron, comes in,” Mason said. “Whitaker asked Fletcher Consulting for a forensic analysis of Dillon’s computer. There was plenty of incriminating material, but it all related to concealing the financial disaster that Dillon had personally orchestrated inside Colfax Inc.”
“I knew he was up to something,” Quinn said. “I could feel it. But when I tried to talk to Dad about my concerns, he told me that he had a gut instinct when it came to identifying talent. He was convinced that Dillon was brilliant.”
“Dillon was every bit as good as his half-brother when it came to dazzling his victims with his charisma and charm,” Jillian said.
“A family talent, maybe,” Lucy said.
Mason looked at Jillian. “Aaron also did some poking around online. He couldn’t find any traces of the old videos.”
“But there’s no way to be certain, is there?” Jillian asked.
“No,” Quinn said. “But it doesn’t matter. You can’t give in to blackmail. If you do, there’s never any end to it. Just like you can’t give in to a dictator.” He grimaced. “Just ask me. When I think of all the years I tried to prove to my father that I was the man he wanted me to be—”
“Those days are over,” Jillian said.
He smiled at her. “Yes, they are.”
Lucy looked at Quinn and Jillian. “What happens now?”
“My father came to see me while I was cleaning out my office this morning,” Quinn said. “He’s still in shock,
I think.”
Jillian sniffed. “Mostly at the realization that Quinn was the one who saved his life the other day.”
“Damned right you saved his ass, Quinn,” Mason said. “I would have tried a shot, but the odds of taking Dillon down before he stuck that old corkscrew into Warner’s throat were not great. Hell, I might have hit your father instead, for that matter. Or you, because you were right behind both of them. Dillon was bent on a final act of revenge, and that kind of obsession is hard to shut down when the avenger loses his self-control.”
Quinn shrugged that off. “Dad made it clear that he’s going to file for divorce from the brood—I mean, Ashley—and devote himself to rebuilding Colfax Inc. I wished him well. He offered to put me in charge of the winery.”
Jillian looked disgusted. “Warner assumed it was an offer that Quinn couldn’t, or wouldn’t, refuse.”
“I declined,” Quinn said. “Which infuriated the old man, because it puts him in a bind. He knows he can’t successfully revive the company and pay full attention to the winery. He’ll have to choose, and he knows it. I’m betting he’ll sell the winery.”
“Quinn and I have some plans of our own,” Jillian said. “We’re going to sell some of the properties we’ve acquired here in the valley during the past few years, thanks to Nolan Kelly’s advice and the inheritance from Aunt Mary. We’ll use the cash to buy and renovate the old Harvest Gold Inn on the square. We’re going to turn it into a real wine-country destination, complete with a spa.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned working at Colfax wines, it’s how to market the wine-country image and lifestyle,” Quinn said. “I can put the inn on the map.”
Lucy looked at Quinn. “At a rough estimate, what do you think my aunt’s old apple orchard is worth?”
Quinn gave her the number.
“Oh, my,” Lucy said. She smiled. “I guess Kelly wasn’t trying to con me after all.”
“No,” Quinn said. “Nolan was a damned good real estate agent.”
“What about the shares in Colfax Inc.?” Deke asked.
“They aren’t worth much at the moment,” Quinn said, “but my dad is very, very good at investing. If anyone can salvage the company, he can. I’d suggest that you hang on to them.”
“No,” Lucy said. “I’m going to give them to you. Those shares are your problem now.”
51
Three days later, Mason suggested a weekend at the coast. This time neither of them smuggled a few personal items into the car. Instead, there were two small overnight bags in the trunk.
Mason drove. They took the main highway this time. Neither of them suggested a detour past the site of the old commune and the treacherous stretch of road where Sara and Mary had been killed.
The purpose of the trip was not to revisit the scene of the murder, Lucy thought.
This is all about us.
She knew that she and Mason were both searching for the way forward. Nevertheless, for the duration of the drive, they managed to talk about everything except their relationship.
The morning fog had burned off by the time they crested the last of the hills and saw the long stretch of rugged coastline. Mason parked the car on the bluffs above a beach. They climbed out, put on windbreakers and sunglasses and made their way down to the water’s edge. Lucy was still moving gingerly because of the cut on her foot, but she made it down to the beach with a little help from Mason.
Sunlight sparked and flashed on the water. A crisp breeze tangled Lucy’s hair. When Mason reached for her hand, she gave it to him without hesitation. His fingers closed around hers, warm and strong. They walked for a time, not speaking. The relentless roar of the waves crashing on the rocky shore made conversation unnecessary.
Sooner or later they would have to talk, Lucy thought. But a part of her was afraid to start a conversation that might not conclude the way she hoped it would.
I’m afraid.
An image of Dr. Preston sitting behind her desk in the therapy room loomed in Lucy’s imagination. She could see Preston’s neatly styled gray hair and her impassive, unreadable face.
What are you afraid of, Lucy?
“Well, damn,” Lucy said aloud.
“That’s not a promising way to start a conversation,” Mason said. He sounded wary. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She laughed. “I just realized I don’t have commitment issues after all.”
Mason relaxed and started walking again, hauling her along with him.
“Congratulations,” he said. “But I could have told you that.”
“Is that so?”
“Can’t see anyone with commitment issues risking her neck and potentially millions of dollars in stock shares to find justice for two women everyone believed had died in an accident. That kind of thing requires a major commitment.”
“That’s different,” Lucy said.
He smiled. “Sure, go ahead, blow it off.”
“Pay attention. This is a very big deal. I never had commitment issues. My problem is that I’ve been risk-averse most of my life.”
“Says the woman who cracked a bottle over the head of a crazy killer armed with a gun.”
“That’s not a good example of risk aversion. I had no choice in that situation.”
“Some people freeze in those situations.”
She frowned. “What good would that do?”
“None,” Mason said. “But a risk-averse person might choose that option. Thinking on your feet is not a natural skill for most people.”
“We’re getting off-topic here.”
“What is the topic?” Mason asked.
“Me and my history of commitment issues.”
“So this is all about you.”
“Absolutely.” She stopped, forcing Mason to halt, too. “Listen up, Fletcher. I have had an epiphany.”
He smiled. “And like everyone else who has ever had an epiphany, you can’t wait to share it with the rest of the world.”
“I don’t give a damn about the rest of the world, but I admit I feel compelled to share it with you.”
“Why me?” he asked.
“Because you are the person who inspired my epiphany. My therapist was convinced that I had commitment issues, but the truth is I have just been extremely cautious when it came to trusting other people.”
“Being cautious is not dysfunctional, it’s a smart survival tactic,” Mason said.
“Exactly my point. To be fair to Dr. Preston, I’ve got a feeling that it’s easy to confuse a bone-deep caution with an inability to commit. And to her credit, I think she was starting to close in on the real problem toward the end of therapy, but I fired her just before we got to the important revelation.”
“Are you sure you’re not overanalyzing yourself here?”
“I’m trying to describe my epiphany.”
“Right.”
“The thing is, there is a difference between being super-cautious and having commitment issues.”
“Okay,” Mason said. “So what?”
“What I’m trying to say is that after everything that has happened, I have come to the realization that life is too short to be lived cautiously.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re going to take up skydiving or bungee jumping?” Mason asked.
“No, I’m trying to tell you that thirteen years ago I got a brief glimpse of the kind of man I would one day want to marry. He was strong and solid, and somehow, even at the age of sixteen, I knew he was a man who, if he made a commitment, would honor it to hell and back. I wasn’t consciously aware of it over the years, but in hindsight I can see that I judged every man I’ve known against the standard he set. It wasn’t fair, not to the men I met or to myself. It’s not right to make those kinds of compariso
ns. Everyone is different. Everyone has strengths and weaknesses. But I made the comparison to you anyway.”
“Hang on here,” Mason said. “Are you telling me I’m the man you used to set your so-called standard?”
“You were the prototype I had in mind when I filled out the online matchmaking questionnaires. Well, except for the poor-communicator thing, of course. I always stipulated that good communication skills were very important.”
“Don’t try to tell me that you’ve been carrying the torch for me for the past thirteen years. I’m not buying that.”
“I wasn’t carrying a torch—not exactly. I had a lot of other things to do during that time. I’ve been busy.”
He looked amused. “Doing what?”
“Growing up, going to college, traveling, meeting new people, finding a career that I love. In short, I’ve been living my life and it’s been good, and when it hasn’t been all good it’s been . . . interesting.”
“Interesting.” He smiled. “Is that the optimist’s way of saying there were times when the shit hit the fan?”
“My point—”
“You mean you’ve got one?”
“My point is that one of the things I’ve had to do along the way was figure out what I really wanted in life.”
“Did you figure that out?” Mason asked.
“Oh, yes. And it’s the one thing I’ve been afraid to risk going for.”
“You want a family.”
She tried to read his face, but it was hard because of the sunglasses.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“Give me a break.” He smiled. “I’m a detective.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” She cleared her throat. “After my big screwup with my engagement, I tried to approach the problem of getting married and having a family as carefully and as scientifically as possible.”
“The online-matchmaking thing.”
“I met some very nice men. Well-educated, successful men. Interesting men. Men who passed all the criminal background checks.”
Mason nodded. “Always a bonus, I say.”