Ripe for Murder Read online

  “Allow me to show you the amenities.” He gestured to the wine chilling in an ice bucket. “The bottle of our house wine is complimentary and provided daily. And here”—he handed me a menu from the side table—“are the selections for your breakfast tomorrow. The menu changes daily, but the coffee is always organic French roast. If you want breakfast, please put this on the door with the time you’d like delivery.”

  I studied the menu. “Is this standard?”

  “Well, it does come with the room, if that’s what you mean.”

  “That’s what I mean. Fresh coffee delivered to the room. Are you kidding? I may never leave.”

  George smiled and led me to the bathroom. “Here we have the shower, which is also a steam room that naturally uses the thermal water the hotel is known for.” Naturally. He pointed to a cord. “Should you wish a massage in your room, the masseuse will use this to lower the table”—he pointed to the ceiling—“housed above us. And, of course”—he gestured to the far side of the room—“the Jacuzzi tub, large enough for two.”

  Of course it was. I tipped George, poured a glass of the Pinot Grigio and dialed the front desk.

  “Can you tell me if Antonia Martinelli has arrived?” She’d driven up separately with Chantal, as if there were any other option. If I had to spend four hours in a car with Chantal, one of us wouldn’t make it.

  “Yes, Miss Lively. Chantal Martinelli as well. They should just be reaching their rooms now. Would you like me to ring either of them?”

  “No. Let them get settled in. Can you transfer me to Connor Lavigne’s room?”

  After a click, Connor answered. “What do you think of the rooms?”

  “The lobby didn’t oversell it. Mine is beautiful.” I opened the French doors to the veranda. “So, if I remember the agenda, they’re having a reception for us downstairs. Sort of a meet and greet. Do you want to go and then grab some dinner afterward?”

  “Actually, they’re having a winemakers’ dinner at the winery next door. I’d like to attend. One of the things we’re both concerned with is the impact to the winery, along with problems the train may cause, that kind of thing. Any issues obviously won’t be highlighted in their pitch to you. I think a fellow manager will share with me more quickly than with you as a winery owner.”

  “That makes sense. I’ll miss you at the reception. I mean, I won’t miss you. I just won’t know anybody,” I stammered. “Not that you’re only good to be around when I don’t know anyone else.” I bit my tongue. “Never mind. Antonia will be there with me. Have a good time and let me know what you find out.” Smooth. Very smooth.

  I hung up the phone, grabbed the hotel brochure and stepped out onto the veranda. I skimmed the booklet, stopping to read the history of the hotel. Built in the 1920s, the hotel had always been a haven for wealthy travelers wanting to enjoy time in the countryside. The latest addition was the recently renovated spa, all thirty thousand feet of it. From my vantage point on the third floor, ornate porcelain sea horses cavorted on one side of the outdoor pool. Original to the hotel when wealthy travelers came to “take the waters,” these same figurines had been piping hot water from natural springs into the pool ever since, refilling the entire pool several times a day.

  Right below my room were the formal gardens, and farther to the left the herb and terraced gardens, shaded with numerous citrus trees. Jasmine scented the air and the sun was that perfect temperature, not too hot on my skin but warm enough to reach deep into my muscles. I released my shoulders, surprised at how tense I was. I rotated my neck, the tightness relaxing, and spotted Connor, several rooms over on the ground floor.

  I’d raised my hand to wave when something red flashed in the room next to his. My arm froze. Chantal wore nothing but red. Connor turned to follow my gaze. I think he said something and Chantal came out of the adjacent suite. The ground-floor location gave Chantal the ability to walk just a few short steps and give Connor a hug. Convenient.

  “They gave the owners the larger suites on the top floor, with their guests having those down below.” Antonia stepped out from her suite and onto the terrace next to mine. “Although I like how the ground floor has direct access to the gardens.”

  Yeah, that was just terrific. “How are you, Antonia?”

  “Better than you, from the look on your face. She’s simply saying hello.”

  “And she didn’t even need to open her mouth to do it. Interesting.”

  Connor and Chantal walked toward the garden together. Actually, Chantal was pulling Connor by the arm, and it didn’t look like he was very comfortable. Good.

  I turned toward Antonia, in black as usual. In deference to the heat of the day, her outfit was a lightweight gauze material, with a shimmer of silver thread woven through the fabric. It looked outstanding with her silver hair, and she knew it.

  She waved a folded sheet at me. “We don’t have long before we’re to meet the other potential investors in the Sonoma Room. However, you can take a few moments to tour the gardens, and perhaps rectify any room assignments that may need it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “If Chantal wants to get ahold of someone, I don’t think a simple room change would be nearly enough. No offense meant.”

  “None taken. I learned long ago my children are responsible for their own behavior.”

  “Connor doesn’t have much time either way. He’s attending the winemakers’ dinner next door.”

  “So is Chantal. There, you see? I’m sure that’s where they’re headed now.”

  With effort, I shifted my attention from Connor and Chantal to focus on Antonia. “So, what do we know about the other potential investors?”

  “The receptionist said a couple from Chicago came in yesterday, and there’s a man here from New Orleans. Owns car dealerships. His wife is half his age. They checked in right before me.” Antonia tapped her fingertips together. “I wonder how the response from investors has been. You know, we’re the only ones contributing land instead of money. It puts us in an unusual situation.”

  “How so?”

  “Even if they raise the money, without our contribution, the railway won’t go forward. There simply isn’t another logical route for it through Monterey County, one that has the wineries, restaurants, proximity to town and scenery that the chosen route does. This enterprise needs to work for us, and let’s remember, we have the upper hand in all this. Beyond that, the number of visitors to both our wineries will increase significantly.”

  “So you think we should participate?”

  “I think we should remain open-minded and noncommittal.” Antonia took one last look toward the gardens. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

  * * *

  TWENTY minutes later I stepped into the Sonoma Room, a large area that featured the same upscale, yet rustic, finishes of the hotel lobby. Walls with a rust-colored suede treatment enhanced the dark brown leather furnishings. A bar ran along one side of the room, and there was laughter and the clanking of glassware. Waiters crossed the room with trays of things that left my mouth watering. As I started to flag one down, a large man in a fitted suit walked up to me and held out his hand.

  “Dave Duport. Duport Automotive.”

  My hand disappeared into his. I’m not small, standing five foot ten, but I felt downright petite next to him. Everything about him was large but seemed somehow to work well together. Not muscle, not fat, just a big solid body topped with a large head covered with plenty of auburn hair. His cheeks had the look of someone who spent a lot of time either outdoors or bellied up to a bar. I’d be willing to bet he’d spent his fair share of time at both activities.

  “I’m Penny. Nice to meet you, Dave.”

  “Call me Big Dave. Everyone does.” He gestured around the room. “Mighty fine spread they’ve put on for us.” He leaned in a bit closer. “The bigger the bar, the bigger the hit to your wallet.”

&n
bsp; “Sounds like you’ve been to a few of these.”

  He teetered his head from side to side, almost touching his ears to his shoulders since he didn’t have a neck to speak of.

  “Not quite like this.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “This is more for my darlin’ bride than me. Tara’s from these parts. I’m just a car salesman down home.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card and handed it to me.

  I glanced at the card, then took a second look. “That looks like a zebra behind the wheel.”

  “It surely is. That’s Hank when he was just a baby. He lives at my Memphis dealership. Well, one of ’em anyway.” He shook his head, the folds on his chin not quite keeping up. “Don’t jump to any conclusions. He wasn’t smuggled in or anything. Damn people who buy these animals don’t have the sense that, well, that Hank does. No, he was a rescue, and believe me, he lives better than most people do.”

  “Does he really help you sell cars?”

  He nodded. “You bet he does. Truth is, it’s all about being remembered when people are ready for a new car. And a chance to get the kid’s picture taken with Hank just might be the difference between them coming to my dealership or someone else’s.”

  He held a palm up. “God’s truth, I give folks the best deal for their money. There’s a reason forty percent of my business is repeat business. The rest? Just me having a little fun.” His eyes twinkled.

  I smiled. I couldn’t help it. I liked the guy. “So, you said investing in the train venture is more for your wife?”

  He nodded. “Tara. She’s around here somewhere. She’s a bit younger than me. Just search for the finest-lookin’ filly in the room.”

  “How long have you been married?”

  “Couple of years.”

  When a successful man in his fifties openly admits he has married the young hottie, you can’t help but think of the wife he likely left behind. He must have seen something on my face.

  “You look like you just ate something sour.”

  “It’s just that as a woman who’s never been married, in her mid-thirties—okay, late thirties—I just wonder why people do some of the things they do.”

  He tilted his head. “By ‘people,’ you mean men.”

  I shrugged. “I guess I do.”

  “You think I left someone else for Tara.”

  I nodded. “It’s a common theme, you’ve got to admit.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you. Tara’s my third wife. The first was after high school—well, not quite after, if you get my meaning—and I’ve got a son you’ll get to meet this weekend.” He bit his lip. “That marriage was a mistake her parents insisted on, and it lasted less than a year, although I’ve always tried to do right by my boy. Shortly thereafter, I met the love of my life, my beautiful girl Sue.” He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. “For thirty wonderful years she made me whole. Never had any children, but that didn’t matter. With her, the world was mine.” He paused. “Lost her five years ago.”

  I took a slug of wine. Lacking a verbal filter has gotten me into this situation more than once. Before I could begin an apology, he shook his head as though to clear it.

  “Tara’s fun. She keeps me young and keeps the memories at bay.”

  As though on cue, a high laugh came from across the room, and a smile crossed his face. “There’s my Tara now.” He put up a hand to the side of his mouth and yelled over the clatter. “Come over here, darlin’.”

  The woman who turned at the sound of his voice was a few inches shorter than me and curvy. Really curvy. She walked toward me, sporting a big beehive hairdo, the kind they wore in the sixties. The hair came in second for eye-catching. This gal was sporting the largest chest I had ever seen. You couldn’t help but stare. It was like they had their own gravitational field. I glanced over at Big Dave, and he shrugged and grinned.

  “Having fun, darlin’?”

  “Oh, Davey, this is everything I hoped for.” She glanced my way. “Who are you?”

  “Hi, my name’s Penny—”

  “Davey, I need another drink.” She was either rude or had the attention span of a clam.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Big Dave caught my look. Again. “Now, Tara, I was having a conversation with Penny here.”

  Both her lower lip and other physical attributes jutted forward. “But, Davey.” She rolled the name around, like she had a mouth full of marbles.

  Again, I felt my eyes disappearing into the back of my head.

  “What?” Tara had turned her focus to me, and I got a good look. Pretty but average, except for her eyes, which were a startling shade of topaz. They were heavily made up with false eyelashes and shimmer blue lids. “Well, what?”

  “Um, nothing. I just don’t know if he looks like a Davey.” I was tempted to pronounce it the way she had, but decided to be the bigger person. Yawn.

  “Well, when we got married, I stopped calling him Big Dave, and Double D won’t work,” she giggled. “That could be my nickname.”

  The server came by with a tray of something wrapped in bacon.

  Tara grabbed him by the arm. “Oh, this looks good.”

  Big Dave leaned over. “Don’t take offense. She’s just had a little too much of the bubbly.”

  Lucky her. I polished off my glass of wine. “Oh, look, I’m empty.” I nodded good-bye at Big Dave and turned away.

  Tara didn’t even register that I’d left. She was still engrossed in the waiter, holding him by the arm, her head resting slightly on his shoulder. He seemed to look better than whatever he carried on the tray, but I hoped for Big Dave’s sake that wasn’t the case. In spite of his questionable choice in current brides, there was something likable about him.

  I made my way to the bar just as a tall guy up front tapped on a glass with a knife. He got the attention of the room, mostly because he was dressed like he’d just stepped off a train. He wore overalls, but they must have been his special-occasion pair because they were dark navy and looked freshly pressed. The shirt was OshKosh, and he had a red bandanna tied around his neck. A little cap in white and blue stripes sat at a jaunty angle, covering most of his jet-black hair, and he sported a moustache to match.

  He smiled. “Well, just look at this fine turnout. My name’s Bill. I’m the head engineer for the line, and I’ll be in charge of making sure your experience on the St. Katrina Express is everything you hoped it would be.”

  “I’m sure he means everything he hopes it will be.” Antonia came up beside me. “I read somewhere he’s the major shareholder.”

  “With those overalls, he looks like he belongs in a caboose. I wouldn’t have guessed he was the money behind the company,” I said.

  “I’m sure that’s what he had in mind.”

  Bill continued. “To make this easier, we’re going to divide you up into three groups. Each group will have its own car on the train. Now let me get you sorted.”

  A few minutes later my name was called and I walked to where Bill indicated. Antonia followed me.

  “How do you know you’ll be with me?”

  “It stands to reason he’d put the people that already know each other together.”

  Sure enough, Bill called her name, and she waved and raised an eyebrow at me. She loves to be right, even over the smallest things. It makes me crazy, although I do the same thing. I just hope less annoyingly so.

  “Now that we’re sorted, I’m going to get another glass of wine,” she said. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

  I still had a full glass and waved her off, a move that might have been premature because Big Dave and Tara joined me a few moments later, along with another couple.

  “Hi. My name’s Jim and this is my wife, Kim.”

  Good. Even I could remember names that rhymed. Handsome in an understated way, Jim had sharp features with ol
ive skin and a full head of silver hair combed back from his forehead. Kim, in contrast, had a paler complexion, long blonde hair and the prettiest smile I’d ever seen. Like, Julia Roberts pretty.

  “I’m Penny, and this is Tara and, um, Big Dave?”

  He nodded encouragement at me.

  Tara sidled up to Jim. “And where are you from, Jim?”

  Jim threw his arm around Kim, who flashed that smile. “Chicago. It’s our first time here in California, and I’m taking my gorgeous bride on a dream trip. Beautiful scenery and my beautiful wife. And on a train! Not much could be better than this.”

  Kim turned her smile on me. “Jim loves trains, which is a good thing, since he’s a safety inspector on the Central Pacific line out of Chicago.”

  Tara put one hand on her hip and rocked to one side. Her chest followed shortly thereafter, as did the peripheral vision of every man in the room.

  “How does a person that inspects trains afford the kind of investment we’re talking about each of us making here?”

  Jim raised his brows and was about to speak, but Big Dave slapped his forehead. I guess he had his limits after all. “Tara, you can’t ask things like that. It isn’t polite.”

  Kim’s smile didn’t falter. “Oh, I don’t mind answering. It’s crazy, really. My mother had an uncle who did very well. He didn’t have any children, and he named my mother his heir years ago. When I lost her, it all came to me.”

  Jim still had his arm around Kim, and he gave her shoulders a squeeze. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s trains, so we thought this investment would be a perfect fit.”

  “Yes, well, that’s all very interesting.” Tara looked at Big Dave. “It’s okay to say that, isn’t it?” She whipped that beehive hair around, one hand still on her hip, and walked away.

  “Now, honey.” He followed her to the bar. The rest was lost as they moved through the crowd.

  “Wow, is she a handful,” I said.

  Jim shook his head. “Then he’s the right guy for the job. Did you see his hands? They’re huge. I don’t see going through life being called Big Dave, but if it works for anyone, it’s him.”