Blood for Wine Page 12

  Jim would have gone on all afternoon, but after a few more exchanges, I changed the subject. “So, what did you think of Amis’ bash?”

  His face clouded over. “Well, I got through it. It was nice of him to invite me.”

  “Oh, you’re his hero, I think. Have you seen his wine cellar? There’s a painting taken from a photo of one of your fields down there along with a zillion bottles of good wine, including a lot of your own.”

  He laughed. “Didn’t know about the painting, but his cellar’s legendary. Like any creative endeavor, wine has its devotees as well as its artists.”

  “You see yourself as an artist?”

  The question seemed to ignite something behind his deep blue eyes, and he combed his beard with his fingers before answering. “Is that so surprising? I mean, I start with grapes and work them into something beautiful and complex, something people value for aesthetic as well as gastronomic reasons. And they’re willing to pay serious money for it. So, yeah, I suppose you could call me an artist, although I really see myself more as a craftsman in the long tradition of winemaking. Did you know archeologists found a wine press in a cave in Armenia that was dated to 4100 BC?”

  “BC?”

  “Yep. Hell, the Romans were Johnny-come-latelies, but you can thank them for the great wine producing regions in Europe.” He opened his big hands, his eyes blazing with intensity. “For me, here at Truc, I didn’t want to just grow something like hazelnuts or Christmas trees. I wanted to create something, and the first time I had a glass of really good wine, I knew exactly what it was.”

  I nodded and smiled, feeling that sense of envy again at Jim’s ability to look at life through a single lens. “Well, the Dundee Hills are lucky to have you,” I told him, and then watched as he busied himself with some log entries. When he looked up, I said, “Did you run into Blake Daniels last night?”

  He dropped his eyes back to the logbook. “Just in passing. He and I avoided each other, as usual.”

  “Uh, Winona told me she took a wrong turn at the party and opened a door on him and Candice. They were playing tongue hockey.”

  His eyes sprang up to mine. “You’re shitting me.”

  “Afraid not. How do you feel about that?”

  He focused on something past me for a long time, then waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, she was drinking last night. She’s a grown woman. She can screw whoever she wants.”

  “She knows an awful lot about your operation.”

  He locked onto my eyes, the blue lasers pumping. “I trust her, Cal.”

  “Okay. Did you happen to notice when Daniels left the party?”

  “No, I didn’t. Why?”

  I unpacked what had happened at The Aerie. When I finished, Jim almost teared up. “I’m sorry, Cal. I didn’t mean for this thing to spill into your life.” I told him it came with the territory, and after he regained his composure he said, “What’s this have to do with Blake Daniels?”

  “Probably nothing. But I didn’t see him at the party around the time we left.”

  Jim’s eyes got big. “What, you think he was the guy at your place?”

  I shrugged. “Just wondering. You told me he showed an interest in Lori, and Candice mentioned that she thought Lori might have been seeing someone before the murder.”

  He shook his head and squinted in disbelief. “You think Lori was seeing someone, and he was the one who killed her? And you think it could’ve been Blake Daniels? Jesus.” His eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m going to kill the son of a bitch.”

  I put both hands up. “Whoa, big fella. This is pure speculation at this point. Don’t breathe a word of it to anyone, especially Candice. Let me talk to her, okay?”

  Jim agreed, but I left him in a highly agitated state, which worried the hell out of me. The last thing I needed was to have this get back to Blake, or worse yet, that Jim did something crazy. That wasn’t my only worry. I was unsure how to play it with Candice, and I was still trying to digest my interview with anger-management poster boy, Aaron Abernathy

  The expression May you live in interesting times popped into my head. The story goes it was a curse the ancient Chinese wished upon their enemies. It seemed to fit my current situation, even though I wasn’t sure who my enemies were.

  Chapter Twenty

  There aren’t too many things better than that first cup of coffee in the morning. I’d finished mine, a cappuccino as usual, and it was so good I made another and stood at the sink taking in the view. Although there was a dark band on the horizon, the clouds that brought rain through the night had cleared to the north. Two hawks circled slowly above the valley floor, which pulsed with fall colors—mostly greens, ambers, and golds interspersed with the occasional shell-burst of vermillion. It was as fresh and beautiful as the first time I laid eyes on it, and I knew I’d never tire of that view.

  An hour after breakfast, I gathered up my jogging shoes and put them on. I’d seriously thought about having a set of earplugs handy for this ritual, which brought Archie to his feet and sent him spinning in circles and barking at such an ear-splitting pitch that I had to put him outside. When I finally emerged and we started down the drive, he burst ahead, only to stop and look back to make sure I was coming. Working dogs need jobs, and one of his was taking me for a run. He performed his job with the utmost seriousness, but at the same time it filled him with an almost delirious joy.

  I walked to the gate, did some stretches, and then began jogging on Eagle Nest, the unpaved lane that led out to the road. It was clear and cold, and it felt good to stride out. But when I reached the junction, a banana yellow Fiat coming from the direction of Dundee pulled up next to us. A tinted window retracted, and Candice Roberts said, “Good morning, Cal. Out for a jog?”

  “Oh, hi, Candice. Yeah, my dog’s been nagging me all morning. I finally succumbed.”

  “Um, could we talk for a minute?”

  I looked at Arch, who was down the road giving me the stink eye. “Sure, park your rig and walk with me. Otherwise, Archie will have a temper tantrum.”

  She turned onto Eagle Nest, parked, and joined me, wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and a worried look. I started walking at a fast pace, which she had no problem matching. She said, “I went in to Truc this morning to catch up. You know, this last week’s been crazy. Jim was out in the warehouse fussing over the fermenters. I go in to say hi, and he starts acting all weird. When I ask him what’s wrong, he says I need to talk to you.” She paused. “I think I know what it is, but, anyway, here I am.”

  “What do you think he’s upset about?”

  She shook her head. “I think your friend, Winona, saw me with Blake Daniels.”

  “I did mention that to Jim.” I paused to give her a chance to reply.

  She shrugged and opened her hands. “Hey, I was a little drunk. The guy’s sexy. What’s the big deal, anyway?”

  “Blake Daniels is a competitor of Jim’s, and you know Truc’s business inside out.”

  She blinked at me a couple of times in disbelief. “You mean Jim’s worried I’ll betray him to Blake?”

  “No. He has absolute confidence in you. It was me who raised the question.”

  She leveled her gaze at me, her eyes narrowed down. “What the hell, Cal? I’m a single woman, and it’s my own business what I do. I would never tell Blake anything about our operation.”

  I shrugged. “It’s my job to wonder about things, Candice.” I hesitated, because the next question would tip her about my suspicion of Blake Daniels. She stood there, her hands on her hips, her slate-blue eyes locked on me. They were like open windows, but at the same time they held a hard edge. I decided to chance it. “Where did Daniels go after you two finished making out? I didn’t see him later in the party and neither did Winona or Jim.”

  Her look turned puzzled. “He left early. Didn’t tell me where he was going.”
She rolled her eyes. “Probably had another date.”

  “What time did he leave?”

  “Some time before eight. Why?”

  “My place was broken into the night of the party between eight thirty and nine,” I said, and began describing what happened at The Aerie.

  By the time I finished, her eyes were wide with astonishment. “Oh, my God, you think Blake was Lori’s lover, don’t you? You think he killed her.”

  Just like Jim, I had to slow her down. I could see why they got on so well. “No, but I’d like to eliminate him as a suspect.”

  Her eyebrows dropped for a moment, and then an ah-ha smile spread across her face. “I can go undercover, Cal. He’s into me. I could encourage it, see what I can find out.”

  “Absolutely not,” I shot back. “If he is involved—and I have no evidence of that—it could be dangerous.”

  Her eyes narrowed down again, and she set her jaw. “I can take care of myself. Wouldn’t you like to know if he was seeing Lori, or where he was the night she was killed?”

  “Sure, but—”

  “Then it’s settled.”

  “It’s not settled, damn it. It isn’t worth the risk.”

  She raised her chin and pushed her lower lip out, a look I bet carried over from her childhood. “I’m going to do it so you might as well get on board, Cal. I owe it to Jim.”

  I heaved a sigh. “So how do you propose to go about this?”

  She shrugged. “First off, I’ll make sure he knows I’m interested. Then I’ll just play it by ear, ask lots of questions, see what develops.” A smile lit her face. “It’s a lot like going to the net in a tennis match—once you commit you have to rely on your instincts.”

  I nodded faintly and said, “Okay, keep me in the loop, when you plan to see him, what you’re going to do, that sort of thing. Agreed? And this is just between you and me.”

  She laughed and started back toward her car. “You’re cute when you worry, did you know that?” she said over her shoulder.

  To Archie’s eternal relief I started jogging, and it wasn’t until I stood breathing hard in the middle of a field of weathered tombstones that I finally gave substance to the partially-formed thought nagging at me—Candice was a clever girl and quick on her feet, but who was it she planned to fool—Blake Daniels…or was it me?

  I ran hard the two and a half miles back to The Aerie, with Archie prancing out in front, yelping now and then, an expression of pure ecstasy. After a shower I logged on to my computer to scan The Oregonian and the New York Times. Halfway through the Times I went into the kitchen and came back with a plate full of sliced apples, some walnuts, and a couple of squares of dark chocolate for desert.

  After reading and eating, I sat back and propped my feet on the desk, my old roller chair groaning in the process. My thoughts turned to Jim’s silent partners, Eddie and Sylvia Manning, the note they held against Jim’s property. I Googled Eddie Manning and wound up on the website of his and Sylvia’s company, Tilikum Capital Management. The company had an advisory board consisting of Portland business and political heavy hitters and boasted “a proven track record of beating the S&P 500 index through smart, aggressive, and data-driven investments.” I learned that Eddie founded the company twelve years earlier using a small inheritance and grew it into a business with a multimillion dollar investment portfolio. In 2013, the Oregon Business Council awarded Eddie its top Leadership Award for his efforts.

  I knew Tilikum was a Chinook word for people, tribe, or family, so I chafed at the expropriation of the Native word for an investment firm. Among the financial reports I read through—all of them glowing—was a brief item stating that a deal with a for-profit entity called Cornerstone University had been cancelled three months earlier. Tilikum must have been buying up the loans and collecting on them, since the article mentioned that Tilikum bought and collected debt in higher education, health care, consumer credit, and sub-prime loans. I knew how it worked—buy the delinquent debt at pennies on the dollar and hound people for the full amount. I sat back in my seat and shook my head. Apparently, this is what was meant by “smart, aggressive, data-driven investments.”

  I wondered just how solid Tilikum’s balance sheet was, and just how well-off Eddie and Sylvia were. After calling Jim to get his number, I caught Eddie at home and made a date to visit Tilikum Capital Management the following afternoon.

  There was one other thing on my mind—today was the day Sean McKnight was supposed to be contacted by his blackmailers. Would they squeeze him or give him more time? I hoped to hear, and that reminded me to check in with Nando on the search for Amanda Burke. I reached his voicemail and left him a message to call me.

  I sighed and looked over at Arch, who lay watching me in his favorite corner. “So many balls in the air and nothing to show for it, eh, Big Boy,” I said. He wrinkled his coppery brows and whimpered a couple of times. I took it as an expression of sympathy, but he probably just wanted to go outside.

  The day stayed dry, so I decided to tackle some outdoor chores I’d been putting off. After changing into an old pair of jeans, boots, and a sweatshirt, I went out behind the garage where a large pile of oak rounds awaited me. Seasoned for two years, they were ripe for splitting, a task I began a few weeks earlier. I pulled off the tarp that covered them and set to work with my ax. I could have bought split firewood and probably should have to save time, but I liked the workout and the satisfying thunk when my ax hit its mark and the obstinate wood split, exposing the clean, pale-yellow interior and releasing the faint but distinct odor of the wood.

  I was on my third or fourth round when Archie started to bark. I set my ax down and walked around the garage just as Sean McKnight’s truck pulled to a stop. I hushed Arch and waited for the Reverend to climb out. Like Candice, he looked worried and clutched another envelope.

  “Hello, Sean,” I said. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “I asked for time to put the farm up for sale, like you said, and he told me if that was the case, he wanted fifty thousand up front. Earnest money, he called it.” McKnight grimaced. “Earnest money? He’s got a lot of nerve, calling it that.” We were sitting in the kitchen, me with a beer and him with a glass of apple juice. His silver hair was down along his shoulders, a three-day growth bristled on his drawn face, and his eyes had retreated into their sockets from lack of sleep.

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I said I’d have to borrow that at the bank. I’ve got that much, but I’m not going to part with it unless I have to. I figured that would buy us even more time.”

  “How did he react?

  “He yelled at me, said he wanted it as soon as possible. I told him he couldn’t get blood from a stone.”

  “Good. How did he contact you?”

  “By phone this time. A male voice, but garbled. I could hardly understand it.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “Just that he’d be in touch, and warned me again about the cops.” He handed me the envelope he carried into the house. “This came in the mail yesterday.”

  I extracted a letter from the envelope and read it. From a real estate firm called Hanson Properties, located in Salem, it stated that they represented a client interested in buying the McKnight property and requested an opportunity to discuss it with Jim.

  I looked at him and raised my eyebrows. “Interesting timing.”

  McKnight nodded. “I’ve gotten several solicitations like this over the last couple of years, but, yeah, the timing of this one’s suspicious. I called the number at Hanson. They told me the buyer’s name is confidential and that the party’s anxious to close a deal. Any way to find out who it is?”

  “Maybe, but if this is connected to the blackmail, you can bet it won’t be easy. Where did you leave it with Hanson?”

  “I told them I
’d get back to them.”

  “Good. Delay three or four days before you do, then put any meeting off another week. When you get another call from your boy, tell him you’re waiting on the loan approval and working on a deal with Hanson to sell.”

  He nodded again, his eyes filled with anxious concern. “Have you found Amanda?” It seemed like more concern for her than his situation.

  “Not yet, but if she’s in Portland, we will.”

  He dropped his eyes, sighed, and said in a barely audible voice, “My wife, Emma, left Friday to go stay with her parents in Ashland.”

  “I’m sorry, Sean.”

  He looked up and forced a thin smile. “That’s alright. It wasn’t much of a marriage, anyway.” He sighed again, and his eyes filled with tears that didn’t flow. “I told my daughter what I’d done, and I don’t think she’ll forgive me. I’m going to resign from the church this week.”

  “We have a shot at getting those pictures back,” I responded. “Maybe you should hold off.”

  His face grew taut, and he stared into the middle distance between us. “No. This is the way it has to be.”

  Arch and I showed Reverend McKnight out, and he left without saying another word. I went back to the woodpile, glad that I still had plenty of oak left to split. Witnessing the destruction of a man’s life was not a pleasant thing, and every splintering crack of the ax made me feel a little better. My home here in the Dundee Hills was my sanctuary, and now it seemed that greed and murder were loose on this beautiful land. I raised the ax and brought it down harder. The round cleaved cleanly, and the two halves spun off in opposite directions like a couple of gymnasts doing backflips.

  ***

  I was at Bake My Day the next morning having a pain au chocolat and a coffee when Nando finally returned my call. “Good morning, Calvin.”

  “You’re a hard man to get a hold of these days.”

  He chuckled, his deep voice a rumble. “You know what they say, ‘grow hay while the sun is shining.’ I am looking at a property over on SE 16th, a big corner lot with a teardown on it. I think I can get four units on the lot.”