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  “Thank you, Max, for you all your help. I think we got this editorial spread in the bag.”

  “I hope so,” Max said, gracing me with one of his boy-next-door smiles and taking over the blender.

  “Pitcher of Muttgaritas for table seven,” I said. “And table eight wants a pitcher of Pomeranians.”

  “Got it,” Max said.

  The door opened again, and I spotted Bishop and Smasher from the Howling Hounds. They gave me a semi-salute and took the stage. Within a few minutes the bar was in full festive mode.

  “Man, they are rocking it!” Max said, excitedly.

  Before I could match his enthusiasm, the door flew open and the woman with the Verdant Vines baseball cap from the day before entered. A rush of cold air seemed to swirl around the bar as she made a beeline toward me. This evening instead of a ball cap, her long blond hair was smoothly pinned into a low ponytail, she wore tight black jeans, a moss-colored tank top, and large military-style combat boots. Her brown Maltipoo trailed behind her, barely interested in the other dogs.

  “What’s that woman’s name?” I whispered to Max.

  He looked and nodded a greeting to her. “Darla, good to see you.”

  “Glass of Pinot, please, Max. Tonight I’m celebrating,” she said.

  I uncorked a bottle and quirked an eyebrow at her. “Congratulations. What are you celebrating?” I took a red wineglass from the overhead shelf and began to pour.

  She quirked an eyebrow back at me. “Well, of anyone, you should know. ‘Ding-dong the witch is dead.’”

  My blood rushed into my head and I felt a little faint as I realized she was talking about Fran. “It was awful…” I stuttered. The glass suddenly slipped from my fingers and shattered across the terra-cotta.

  Max grabbed my elbow. “I got it,” he said, whipping out his bar towel and picking up the shards of glass from the floor.

  Darla waved a hand around dismissing my shock. “Don’t feel bad about it. She was awful. A truly warped individual. She had a way of making everyone feel miserable, and cheated, and just downright depressed. I’m glad she’s gone. And I’ll be honest with you, I’m even happier to see that Hendrick doesn’t seem in the least bit upset!”

  Max straightened and poured another glass of wine for her. “Still,” he said, handing her the glass. “She’s dead, Darla. You really shouldn’t be making light of it.”

  Darla pursed her lips. “It’s bad taste, is that right?” She sipped the wine. “You really should carry Verdant Vines here, this wine is too bitter.”

  Oh God. I had to get this woman out of here before the editor from Doggie Day showed up. It wouldn’t do any good to have her complaining about the wine in front of the editor.

  “I’d like that,” I said. “I was thinking of going to visit the winery tomorrow.”

  Darla perked up. “Oh, do! Hendrick would love that. He loves giving tours and he’s been trying to win this account since forever.”

  Brenda saddled up to the bar. “I’m starving. Any Arf d’oeuvres?”

  Max nodded. “I’ll get some in the oven.”

  I grabbed his arm. “No! Don’t!”

  Brenda, Max, and I silently exchanged glances as Darla watched on. Yolanda sashayed over to us.

  “Maggie!” Yolanda screeched. “Everything is divine. Smashing. I just got a text from Vrishali. She’ll be here in a few, but I think we’ve got it handled.” At her feet, Beepo let out a string of half barks as if to agree with her.

  “Who’s Vrishali?” Brenda asked.

  “The editor,” Yolanda hissed.

  “The editor of what?” Darla asked.

  “The editor from Doggie Day,” Yolanda said, her eyes nearly popping out of her skull. “What do you think we’re jumping through all these hoops for! You twit!”

  “Yolanda!” I said. I turned to Max. “Cut her off.”

  “I’m not drunk!” Yolanda said. “It’s the stress.” She grabbed Darla’s wrist. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I get little bursts of Tourette’s when I’m stressed. I found a woman this morning…” Beepo hovered around Darla and growled. “Hush now, Beep.”

  Darla’s Maltipoo sniffed at Beepo, and Beepo let out a yap.

  “Beepo!” Yolanda admonisted, just as the door to the bar swung open.

  A tall, slender woman, dressed in a fuchsia-colored sari stood in the doorway.

  “That must be Vrishali,” Brenda breathed.

  Vrishali was indeed breathtaking. The entire bar seemed to pause mid-conversation to take her in. Of course, it wasn’t every day someone sauntered into the Wine and Bark in full Indian garb, but when they did, man, the bar wanted to welcome her. The Howling Hounds concluded their song and took a break, and Yolanda suddenly found her feet and flew to the door to greet the woman.

  Vrishali took a moment to survey the bar and my heart lurched when her expression turned sour.

  What is wrong?

  The woman turned on a heel and pushed her way back out the door. Yolanda trailed her and Beepo scampered out before the door whooshed shut.

  “Max, cover for me!” I dashed out of the bar after them.

  The evening was surprisingly cool, the coastal breezes whipping my hair into my face. I caught up with Yolanda and Vrishali on the patio and introduced myself. Vrishali’s face was set in a serious mask.

  “I’m afraid it’s not what we were looking for,” Vrishali said.

  “Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” I said. “What’s the problem?”

  “It’s so rowdy,” Vrishali said. “I thought it was a quiet wine bar.”

  “It is,” Yolanda and I said in unison.

  “There’s a band!” Vrishali said.

  “We called the band because we wanted to impress you. Usually there’s no band, just on special occasions,” Yolanda said.

  Vrishali seemed to soften. “I didn’t want anyone to make a fuss. I just wanted to get an impression—”

  “Right, right,” Yolanda cooed.

  Beepo barked at Vrishali, seeming to echo Yolanda’s comments.

  She looked down at him. “What a dear.” She bent down and scooped him into her arms. “Do you like the Wine and Bark?” Vrishali stroked Beepo’s chin and looked into his dark eyes.

  I was suddenly wildly happy that Beepo had freed himself of the ridiculous red beret. He seemed much less over the top without it, even as he practically purred in Vrishali’s arms.

  “You do like that little bar, don’t you?” Vrishali asked. Beepo’s tail wagged at a frenzied pace as if he was attention starved, instead of a coddled rascal.

  Yolanda and I exchanged glances.

  “Why don’t you come by tomorrow?” Yolanda asked.

  I grimaced. The Wine and Bark was usually closed on Sundays, not to mention I’d wanted to take a little tour of Verdant Vines and see what I could dig up on Hendrick and Darla.

  “We’re closed tomorrow,” I said. “How about Tuesday. Rachel should be out of the hospital by then.”

  Vrishali’s eyes grew wide. “She’s in the hospital? What’s happened?”

  I glared at Yolanda, willing her to keep quiet. The last thing we needed was for Vrishali to get a whiff of the salmonella. I couldn’t imagine it would be good for business for the Wine and Bark—especially not if people thought she got it there.

  “It’s nothing,” I said quickly. “Will Tuesday work?”

  Vrishali handed Beepo back to Yolanda and pulled out her cell phone. “I’d like to make it work. I really need a feature. Would you be open to a few changes?”

  “Like what?” I said as Yolanda said, “Of course we would!”

  Vrishali scrolled through her appointment calendar. “Maybe a sofa. It would soften the place up. Make it look more like a doggie lounge. Paint, curtains … Let’s see, Tuesday did you say?” She made a face as she looked at her appointments.

  I flashed Yolanda a frantic look, trying to communicate telepathically with her.

  Paint! Curtains! A sofa!

&nb
sp; That would add up to major dollars, dollars I know Rachel didn’t have. Who cared about Doggie Day, anyway?

  Yolanda ignored me, practically stepping on my toes with her high heels as she positioned herself next to Vrishali and blocked any protest coming from me.

  “Yes, Tuesday, does that work?” Yolanda asked sweetly.

  “Yes,” Vrishali said. “I can make it work. The only other thing I have on my calendar that day is to check out the new Kitty Corner that’s opening soon. Doggie Day is not just about dogs these days.”

  “Kitty Corner?” I stuttered. My stomach dropped, and by the look on Yolanda’s face I gathered she felt the same way. A Kitty Corner opening nearby could ruin our business. Then in true canine fashion, Beepo let out ghastly bellow that summed up my feelings.

  Chapter Nine

  Even though I slept poorly, I awoke on Sunday with a new sense of purpose. Today I would visit Verdant Vines and try to get traction on Fran’s murder. But before I could make my morning tea, my phone rang.

  “How did it go last night?” Rachel’s voice was groggy but strident.

  I groaned inwardly. How to tell her that the Doggie Day interview had been a flop?

  “Well, the good news is Vrishali is going to come on Tuesday. You’ll be out by then, right? Are you ready to come home now?” I asked hopefully.

  She moaned. “I had a terrible night. The nurses kept coming in and waking me. I hope I get to go home today. Why is she coming back on Tuesday?”

  “It was pretty rowdy last night. I think she was looking for something more low-key. Yolanda suggested she come back.”

  “More low-key? What do you mean? I don’t get it,” Rachel said.

  I didn’t dare mention the Kitty Corner, not until Rachel had her strength back.

  “Uh…” I struggled to switch the subject. “Listen, I have a date with Brad tonight. How about I come see you this afternoon?”

  “That’d be nice,” Rachel said. “Can you stop by my apartment and bring me my laptop?”

  My door buzzer sounded. “I will, Rachel. I gotta go now. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  We hung up and I yanked open my door to greet Yolanda. She held a steaming take-out cup in one hand and Beepo in the other.

  “Ready, sugar?” she asked. “I’ve been honking, but you never showed up.”

  I gestured for her to come in. “I didn’t hear you. I was on the phone with Rachel.”

  I brought Yolanda up to speed on Rachel as I put the teakettle on to boil and pulled out my travel mug.

  Yolanda sat on my kitchen stool and stroked Beepo’s triangle-shaped ears. Late last night, I’d managed to convince her to drive me to Verdant Vines this morning, but now she said, “I’m not sure we should go poking around that winery today, Maggie. I got a bad feeling.”

  “You have a bad feeling because of yesterday, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t go. We can help Brad and Gottlieb figure this out. Plus, I need to make sure that no one’s out to hurt Rachel. So after the winery we’re checking out Cousin Ronnie’s farm. It’s not that far from Verdant Vines.”

  Yolanda looked down at her outfit. “I’m not really decked out for a farm.”

  She wore white capri pants and Saucony walking shoes. Her feet were so petite I absently wondered if she had to special order her shoes.

  “Oh, stop,” I said, pouring the hot water over my tea bag. “Think about Rachel stuck in the hospital instead of your outfit.”

  Yolanda made a noise in throat as if I hadn’t one iota of fashion sense, which I probably didn’t. Beepo mimicked her noise. Ignoring them, I snapped down the lid to my travel mug and motioned to the front door.

  * * *

  Verdant Vines was located on a hilltop outside of Pacific Cove. It had a spectacular view of the ocean on the west side and acres of rolling green farmland on the east side. On the north side, however, the view was somewhat obstructed by dozens upon dozens of wind turbines.

  “What in the world?” Yolanda asked.

  “Verdant Vines is ‘green,’” I said. “Supposedly the entire winery is powered by those things.”

  Yolanda pulled her convertible into the parking lot, which was full of car-charging stations. “Pretty nifty, these things,” she said. “If only gas wasn’t so cheap, I’d considering going green.”

  “You’re supposed to want to be green,” I said. “Reduce your carbon footprint. This is California, after all.”

  Yolanda made a face. “I’m green. I recycle.” She pressed the lock button on her key fob and the convertible chirped in response. “Anyway, I could be even more green and get rid of my car, but then who would drive you around?”

  The parking lot was deserted, so I asked, “Do you think they’re even open?”

  Yolanda shrugged and headed toward the tasting room. Beepo followed her obediently, but I called out, “Maybe we should leave him in the car?”

  Beepo growled at me and darted up ahead.

  How does he understand me?

  The old farmhouse that held the tasting room oozed charm. It had a white façade with green trim and exposed wooden beams. Yolanda twisted the knob to the front door and a little bell rang out overhead as we entered.

  There was a small bar with a mirror behind it and several tables and chairs. No one seemed to be working. We exchanged glances and hovered near the door.

  “Hello?” Yolanda called out. When no answer came she turned and hissed at me, “I told you I had a bad feeling.”

  “Stop it. It’s early. Look,” I pointed to the sign near the lower left-hand side of the mirror that stated the hours. “Wine tastings start at ten-thirty.”

  Beepo, who hovered near our feet, suddenly let out a small bark.

  Yolanda’s eyes grew wide. “What it is? What do you hear, boy?”

  Beepo barked louder, adding a snarl for good emphasis. Yolanda jumped and a chill zipped up my spine.

  “We better get out of here,” Yolanda said, yanking on the front door, the bell overhead ringing again.

  Then a man’s voice called out, “Uh … hello?”

  “Yes, hello!” I called out.

  “I’ll be right there,” the voice called.

  I turned to Yolanda. “You see, everything is fine. Stop overreacting. You’re freaking me out!”

  Yolanda scowled at me, but said nothing. Beepo lost interest in us and padded along to sniff behind the bar. After a few seconds Hendrick appeared. He crossed to us, his eyes were red-rimmed and his handsome face looked tired.

  “I’m so sorry. I was … I didn’t…” His voice drifted off and he shook his head. “I had some terrible news yesterday and I thought I’d cancel the tours today…” He covered his mouth with his hand and seemed to collect his thoughts. “But I’m happy you’re here. Did you want come to place an order for the Wine and Bark?”

  Now I felt super awkward. I couldn’t very well grill him about his relationship with Fran and not place an order for the Wine and Bark, could I?

  I absently wondered what Rachel’s budget was.

  “Yes,” I said. “We need a shipment in for Tuesday. Will that be possible?”

  Hendrick nodded. “I’m sure we can manage something. Let me give you a tour.”

  We followed Hendrick out through a small tasting room with sliding-glass doors. The doors opened to a wooden deck with a view of straight rows of wine grape vines. The sun was beginning to peek over the hilltop to warm the day. It felt as if we’d been transported to the South of France.

  Yolanda gasped. “This is lovely!”

  We strolled quietly down the trail, then Beepo dashed out from the deck and raised his hind leg to go on one of the grape vines. As Beepo marked it, Hendrick howled, “What the devil!”

  Yolanda giggled. “I’m so sorry.”

  Hendrick’s face looked ashen. “I don’t normally allow dogs on the tour.” He glanced at me and said, “I suppose I can make an exception for the clientele of the Wine and Bark.” He looked about as miserable at havin
g a dog on the tour as I did.

  We proceeded down the trail in silence until Hendrick stopped at the bottom and gestured to a bush. “These are the Pinot Noir grapes we use.” He plucked a bundle of large black grapes from the vine and handed them to Yolanda and me.

  “Yes, lovely,” Yolanda said. “But I thought we were going to taste the wine.”

  I stifled a laugh, but Hendrick frowned and took the grapes back from Yolanda.

  “I like to give all my guests a sense of what goes into the wine.” He waved around at the vineyard. “I usually talk about our wind power … and … I’m sorry, I suppose I’m not a very good host today.”

  “I’m very sorry about Fran,” I said.

  Yolanda echoed me. “Me, too. I was with Maggie. It was awful. We’re so sorry for your loss.”

  Hendrick sighed. “We were together for a long time, Fran and I. Even though our relationship ended a while ago, I loved her very much. It’s still a shock to me.”

  Yolanda glanced at me while Hendrick spoke, motioning toward his boots. Hendrick wore heavy work boots, like those prints at the crime scene. I gave Yolanda a disapproving look.

  Hendrick’s grief seemed real to me. He looked like he’d spent the night crying. I wondered about Darla.

  “You have a new woman in your life,” I said.

  “Yes,” Hendrick said. “Darla. She’s lovely. In fact, losing Fran in such an abrupt manner has made me realize that I have to take life by the horns. I’m going to propose to Darla.”

  My breath caught and a warm sensation filled me. Out of loss could come something wonderful. Yolanda on the other hand made a strange face I couldn’t interpret.

  “Where’s Darla now?” Yolanda asked.

  Hendrick looked around, distracted, as if he’d misplaced her in a pocket. “Oh, I don’t know. She was at the Wine and Bark last night, right? She called me to say good night. She doesn’t live here at the winery with me, like Fran did…” His voice trailed off as if he were trying to reconcile with himself why he was telling us about his personal life.

  “Let’s head back to the tasting room,” Yolanda suggested.

  Hendrick nodded absently and we strolled together toward the farmhouse.