“What, Alex?”

“My hands. They were stained with the lipstick. It scared me. I wondered if I could have written that myself and not… remember doing it. That’s why I called Tim. I knew he could help me figure it out.”

“Why didn’t you call me, Alex?”

“Because… I didn’t want you… to think I was… crazy.”

“What did Tim think?”

“That someone was messing with me. He was going to help-” She bit that back and leaned forward, eyes widening. “That last call from Tim, why’d he make it?”

“I don’t follow.”

“He didn’t expect me to answer. He knows spa rules, he’s had more experience with them than I have. He even said he was surprised when I answered, that he thought he would leave me a voice mail.”

“Okay, go on.”

“He called to tell me about my dad. That’s all he said.” She leaned forward. “Why, Reed? Why then?”

“You tell me.”

“My mother told him my father was a really bad man. That she left Sonoma to protect me. And that she blamed him for what happened to Dylan.”

“Whoa, wait. Did she accuse your father of harming Dylan Sommer?”

“I don’t know for sure.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “We never got a chance to talk further.”

“So, what are you saying, Alex?”

“She didn’t care if they told lies about her. If they reviled her after she left.”

Reed thought of his father, his story about Patsy. And of their conversation the night before, the way his father had acted. The way he had effortlessly changed personas.

At his silence, Alex added, “The BOV, Reed. That story about her. Maybe he killed Tim.”

“He, who?”

“My dad. Maybe he’s behind it all.” Her voice rose. “Maybe they did it. Maybe they took Dylan, too! The real BOV. Whoever they are.” She held out a hand, pleading. “Don’t you see. It makes sense.”

He gazed at her, heart sinking. She was irrational. “No, Alex. It doesn’t make sense. I’m sorry.”

He glanced up at the camera with a small shake of his head, then stood. “I’m going to see what I can do about getting you out of here. Hold tight a little longer.”

She reached out and caught his hand. “I’m right about this.” She lifted her chin. “I know I am.”

He opened his mouth to reason with her, then said instead, “We’ll figure this out. Whoever did this, we’ll get him.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Tuesday, March 16

10:10 P.M.

They released her with the warning she was not to leave the area. She almost laughed out loud at that. Where would she go? The only two people she had called family were gone now.

Tears flooded her eyes. Where did she go now? She was alone. On her own with no one to turn to.

“Alex!”

Alex turned. Rachel. Hurrying across the Sheriff’s Department waiting area. Alex ran to meet her. She still had Rachel, she thought. Thank God.

“I’ve been beside myself,” Rachel cried, hugging her tightly. “I saw the squad cars and Coroner’s wagon… My God, that could have been you!”

“But it was Tim,” Alex whispered. “Maybe it should have been me.”

“Don’t say that.” Rachel held her at arm’s length. “Look at you. They didn’t let you clean up? I’d like to give that Danny Reed a piece of my mind.”

Alex didn’t bother telling her that they had-after photographing her, they’d allowed her to change clothes, though they had kept hers as evidence.

“It’s my fault he’s dead. He came to help me. I asked him to come because-”

She bit the last part back and Rachel searched her gaze. “Because of what, Alex?”

She shook her head, “It doesn’t matter, does it? He’s gone now and they think I did it.”

“No!”

People were looking their way. She caught Rachel’s hand. “Get me out of here, please.”

She did, hurrying to her Infiniti coupe. She opened the passenger door for Alex. “You’re staying with me. No arguments.”

Like she would argue, Alex thought, sinking into the leather seat. She had nowhere else to go.

“What about Margo?” she asked.

“We’re going to go get her. And anything else you need.”

Alex shuddered. “I don’t think I can go back in there. Not ever.”

“I’ll do it,” Rachel said. “I’ll take care of everything.”

She did. While Alex waited in the car, Rachel collected everything she needed, including a traumatized Margo. In what seemed like no time at all, Rachel had Alex installed in the guest room of her charming cottage on the winery grounds. From her bedroom window, she could just make out the entrance to the caves.

“Your place is lovely,” Alex said as she wandered into the kitchen. She’d showered, changed clothes again and felt almost alive.

“Thank you. I love it here.”

“Do you ever get… enough of it?”

“It?” Rachel asked, pouring her a glass of wine.

“The winery. Your family. Living here, working here. Don’t you ever just want to get away?”

She thought a minute, then shook her head. “Oddly, no. I truly couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else. I’m connected to this place, to the vines, the wine. And my roots run really deep.”

“You’re an old vine, then.”

Rachel laughed and handed Alex a glass of red wine. “It’s not one of mine,” she said. “I’m constantly trying other house’s wines. This one’s a Bordeaux-style blend from a boutique outfit in Napa Valley, Fleury. The winemaker’s also the owner and this is his flagship wine, Passionne.”

Rachel sipped. “Good balance of fruit and spice. Nice, full body. Long finish. I need to watch this one.”

Alex sipped but didn’t comment. It could have been vinegar for all she cared right now. She couldn’t shake the image of Tim, on her kitchen floor in a pool of blood, out of her mind. Or the detectives’ questions, the way they kept pounding at her.

“I figured you would be hungry,” Rachel was saying, “so I pulled together some cheese and pâté. I didn’t know if it would be enough, but worried that something too heavy would-”

“It’s perfect, Rachel. Thank you.”

They carried it all to the living room. Alex curled up on the end of the couch and watched as Rachel lit the gas fireplace.

“Do you have the energy to talk about it?” Rachel asked.

Alex shook her head.

“I’m sorry.” Rachel cupped the wine bowl in her palms. “You seemed to care a lot about him. Everyone I know who’s divorced would do a victory dance if-You know.”

“He was always… there for me when I needed him. Maybe not on my timetable, but eventually. And he… understood me.”

“I’ve never been in a relationship like that. Truthfully, that night I met him, he seemed sort of… shallow.”

“Tim of the chopsticks.”

Rachel’s words from that night at the girl & the fig rang in her head, followed by Tim’s response.

“Rachel of the really red lipstick.”

The chopsticks, buried in Tim’s throat. The red lipstick, scrawled across her mirror.

A sick sensation settled in the pit of her stomach. One of revulsion and denial. No. It didn’t mean anything, she told herself. Rachel was her friend. She was the only one she had left.

“What’s wrong?” Rachel asked.

Alex realized she was staring at Rachel and looked away. “I can’t talk about him anymore. I just… I can’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Rachel sounded distressed. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Alex looked back at her, vision swimming. What she was thinking, that Rachel was implicated in all this, wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. “You’ve already done so much. If you hadn’t shown up tonight, I-” She paused, as if in thought. “How did you know to come get me? Tonight, when you did?”

Rachel blinked. “How? Danny called me.”

That made sense, didn’t it? Alex ran a hand across her brow. “I hope I don’t seem ungrateful, but would you mind if I went to bed? I’m not very good company right now.”

“No problem.” Rachel got to her feet. “Take your wine and a plate of-”