The Merlot Murders by Ellen Crosby Page A

big house?”
    “Only to drop Lucie off,” Eli said. “Brandi was exhausted. We went straight home after that. To Leesburg.”
    “Did you drive by the winery?”
    “Nope.”
    “What about you, Lucie?”
    “I went to bed after Eli took me home. I had just gotten off a plane from France yesterday afternoon. I was really beat, Bobby.”
    “Who else was there? Mia? Dominique?”
    “Mia stayed with Greg Knight and Dominique slept over at Joe’s,” Eli said.
    “I’ll check that out, too.” He didn’t look up from his notebook, but the bubble he blew this time was lopsided and deflated instantly.
    “Yo, Bobby!” Another uniformed officer stood in the courtyard archway. “We need you.”
    “Coming.” The three of us walked toward him. “You two stay put,” Bobby said. “I don’t suppose I have to tell you that this place is now a crime scene. No one goes in there until we take the yellow tape down. Understood?”
    “Your guys shouldn’t leave the door open like that. The place is climate-controlled.” Eli sounded irritated. “You know, harvest starts next week, Bobby. You can’t shut us down.”
    “Actually, Eli, I’m afraid we can.” Bobby was short. “And the place is gonna stay shut down while we go over everything for evidence. So if anybody gets any cute ideas about sneaking back in and contaminating the site before I give the all clear, you’ll be hearing about it from hell to breakfast. Understand?”
    He left for the barrel room without waiting for an answer, his heavy-soled shoes crunching on the gravel.
    “Damnit,” Eli said. He picked up a handful of stones and pitched them, one by one, at nothing in particular.
    “Why did you have to be so hard on him? Maybe we could have worked something out, if only you hadn’t treated him like he was Barney Fife, straight out of Mayberry.”
    Eli’s eyes were cool. “I’m starting to wonder whose side you’re on, Luce.”
    I heard the car coming before it pulled into the floodlit parking lot. A blonde woman driving a khaki-colored Jeep with the top down parked next to Eli’s Jag.
    “Oh God,” Eli said. “What’s she doing here?”
    Katherine Eastman opened the door to the Jeep and climbed out, a large leather purse slung over one shoulder. She was dressed in a black mini-skirt and clingy red tank top that had either shrunk in the dryer or she was kidding herself. She must have gained twenty-five pounds since the last time I’d seen her.
    “I came as soon as I heard,” she said. She was wearing lipstick to match the fire-engine-red tank top, eye makeup that looked like it had been applied by a road marking gang, and her hair, which had once been a flatteringly warm shade of auburn, was Marilyn Monroe blonde. “Is it really true?”
    “You shouldn’t have bothered,” Eli said. “We could do without the press.”
    “I’m surprised to see you here, Eli. I didn’t realize your leash extended this far.” She hugged me. “Hey, kiddo. It’s good to see you again. I’m so sorry about your dad.”
    Kit and I had been friends since we used to play in the sandbox together and she’d been my brother’s girlfriend until Brandi showed up. The split between Kit and Eli had been volcanic. Kit told me later that she finally understood the truth in the saying about the fine line that existed between love and hate, that it was absolutely possible to go from loving someone so much you would die for him to hating him so much you could kill him. Two years later it looked like the bitterness between them had hardened to mutual contempt.
    “Where have you been?” I asked. “I tried to reach you.”
    “At my mom’s. The home helper was sick. You know we can’t leave her alone anymore. She sends her apologies about missing the funeral and the wake. She’s having a tough time at the moment.”
    “Tell her I’ll be by to visit, when she’s up for it.”
    “She’d like that.” She glanced over Eli’s shoulder. “So what happened? Do they