A Pairing to Die For Read online

  Eli has since returned. He makes a phone call, pacing far enough away from me that I only hear mumbled words. After he hangs up, he takes one of the coveted chairs at my side, resting his forearms on his knees. He checks his watch at least once a minute, steadfast in his assurance to not give Reid and Sage a millisecond longer than they’re allotted.

  I try to picture Reid and Sage in one of those cold, dim rooms. I wonder what they’re saying. If Sage is using her mental prowess to get Reid out of this, if Reid is drumming his hands on the table, like he’s prone to doing when forced to sit too long. What he thought of my message.

  I let out an audible exhale. It must not have been my first one, because Eli side-eyes me, his gaze steady.

  “Have you been climbing lately?” he asks.

  “You know I have,” I say quietly. “I’ve invited you to go.”

  The thing about climbing is, it’s better with a friend. A belayer broadens the range of what you can do and opens up more routes. After randomly bumping into Eli at the gym a few times earlier this summer, I’d harbored hopes we could become regular climbing buddies. But alas, he’s always cited some vague excuse for why he can’t join me.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  A vague excuse like that.

  “Right.” I snort and roll my eyes but let it go. Because, right now, I couldn’t care less about Eli’s bogus schedule conflicts.

  A silence falls between us. An older couple, looking lost, enters the waiting area, but from the lawyerly figure trailing them, I know they’re not lost. I spare them a thought, hoping whomever they’re here for is deserving of their devotion.

  Eli leans forward, staring at his hands. “Look, I wish there was more I could do.”

  I cut a sharp glance at him. “Do you, though?”

  “Of course.” He furrows his eyebrows. “You’re the last person I wanted to see here.”

  I wince. That’s harsh.

  “You know what I mean. Involved in another one of my cases.” He shifts in his seat and runs a hand through his hair, messing up the perfect side part. Frazzled is a completely foreign look on him.

  While he’s agitated, I make one last play for information. “Why do you think Reid did this?”

  I must be the picture of pitiful—red-rimmed eyes, unkempt hair, beat-up jeans—because he actually answers.

  He lowers his voice. “This stays between us, and I’m only telling you so you can be on your guard and carefully consider those you associate with.”

  He doesn’t spell it out, but I catch his drift. He’s warning me about Reid, challenging my feelings for him. I don’t appreciate it.

  “The evidence is damning,” Eli says. “Mr. Flores was killed with Reid’s knife. A witness overheard him and Mr. Flores arguing in the alley behind the establishment called Spoons. They went to check and saw Reid and Oscar fighting, a wrestling match that resulted in the stabbing of Mr. Flores. And then there’s Reid’s injury.”

  He waves his hands as if this final fact clinches the deal.

  “Reid cut himself in the kitchen. It happens all the time.” Even as those last words leave my mouth, I realize they aren’t true. In fact, since Reid and I started dating I have never seen him cut himself—not even so much as a nick.

  “Could be,” Eli says with a shrug. “Or could be it was the result of an altercation with Oscar.”

  “Reid has an alibi. He was with me at Vino Valentine last night.”

  “Really?” He gives me a look of sheer disbelief. “You were with him every second? The whole night?”

  “Well, no,” I admit.

  Eli looks so smug he might as well be twirling a handlebar mustache between two fingers. “The coroner places the murder happening sometime between ten and two o’clock.”

  I’m not sure exactly what time Reid got to Vino Valentine, having been occupied in my therapeutic stomping, but it’d been late, probably close to midnight, well after Spoons closed.

  But Reid is often at the restaurant late—whether for extra cleaning, taking stock of ingredients, or prepping for the next day. I just wish I knew what kept him last night.

  “What about a motive?” I ask. “Reid and Oscar are friends, have been for ages.”

  “The psychology of a murderer is not always easy to understand.”

  “Reid isn’t a murderer.” I grind my teeth.

  Eli is on the verge of saying something else but stops. “I’ve told you too much already. We have probable cause. He could be a danger to himself or others.”

  With that, frowning, he turns his attention to the screen of his phone.

  I want to retort that the only danger will be me if my boyfriend isn’t released soon. But it would be pointless.

  Instead, I get to my feet in a huff and move closer to the receptionist, stuffing my hands in the pocket of my hoodie.

  Stupid detectives and their stupid protocol.

  I sense motion on the other side of the metal detector and gaze down the hallway in time to see Sage emerge from a room that must be used for visitations. And behind her, flanked by officers, is Reid.

  * * *

  * * *

  Reid almost appears the same. Roguish good looks enhanced by his beard and lean muscles. Sandy-blond hair with coppery undertones the color of port. Skin tanned from hiking and perusing the outdoor farmers market. The same except, of course, for the orange jumpsuit, handcuffs, and laceless slippers.

  Sage says something to him and he nods, his gaze fixed on the floor before him. Even though he’s standing tall, there’s a tension in his shoulders and his jaw is clenched.

  I stare at him, directing my mental focus to send him a message via whatever version of the Force really exists: look this way.

  And then he does.

  Our eyes meet and his demeanor transforms. Relief washes over his face and his shoulders relax. He drinks in my face like a dehydrated runner at the top of Mount Sanitas drinks water. I do the same with his.

  His lips twitch and he forces a cocky smile on his face. I can tell it’s for show, his way of saying he’s okay.

  I shake my head, letting him know I don’t buy it.

  He shrugs, like, It was worth a shot.

  He starts to mouth something but an officer grabs him by the upper arm and pulls him in the opposite direction. Reid gives me one last look before turning the corner and disappearing into the folds of the prison.

  I’m still staring down the hallway when Sage waves her hands in front of my face. “Earth to Parker.”

  “Sorry, just . . .”

  “Engaging in a visual lip-lock. I get it.”

  I blink at her, my tone turning defensive as I respond, “Making the most of the only contact I can have with my boyfriend.”

  “Let’s fix that, shall we?” Sage links her arm through mine and guides me to the receptionist.

  I allow her to tug me along, still reeling from seeing Reid manhandled in handcuffs, the bright orange of his jumpsuit seared into my mind.

  “Excuse me,” Sage says through the wire mesh. “We’d like to schedule a visitation for tomorrow.”

  “Fill this out.” The officer slides a clipboard, sheet of paper, and pen through the small opening in the barrier. “As long as you’re on the inmate’s list, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Sage accepts the form on my behalf, which is probably for the best given the way the font swims before my eyes, and begins jotting down answers to the questions—my name, birth date, even my address.

  While Sage writes, I search her face for an indication as to how the visit went. You know, a sign that this nightmare will be over stat or, at the very least, that my boyfriend responded to my declaration of love.

  I can’t read her expression.

  We return the application and, a minute later, I’m officially entered into the system
and given a slot for the following day. There’s a flutter of nerves and anticipation in my chest, and the fleetest stirring of hope.

  Eli drifts to our side.

  Sage straightens and raises her chin, leveraging every inch of her petite frame. She strikes the very definition of a power pose as she addresses Eli. “I’d like to petition to have my client’s arraignment hearing as soon as possible.”

  Eli chuckles. “You’ll have to take that up with the DA. Mr. Wallace’s first appearance has already been set for tomorrow morning.”

  “Can’t it be any sooner? This afternoon?”

  “Doubtful,” he says, sliding his fingers through his belt loop. “This is all pretty standard. Since he was booked this morning, it’ll be the following day.” Eli shifts his attention from Sage to me. “Reid will be okay for one night.”

  “If you say so.” I want to believe Eli. Really, I do. But in the back of my mind, there’s this niggling voice telling me it could be more than one night. That there’s a chance Reid won’t be okay.

  Sage gives Eli a curt nod, narrowing her eyes. “I expect you’ll let me know if there’s any news.”

  I’d hate to be opposite Sage in a courtroom. She’s exuding an air of assertiveness that no doubt some would interpret as catty. As for me? I couldn’t be prouder.

  Eli’s lips tighten into a thin line, but he responds, “You bet.”

  “Great,” Sage says. “Let’s go, Parker.”

  “I’ll walk you guys out,” Eli says.

  Sage shoots him a look that would turn all the grapes at the back of my winery into raisins.

  He backpedals, gesturing vaguely toward the receptionist. “Actually, I’ve gotta check on something.”

  I give Eli a little wave before following Sage, who’s already a few paces ahead of me.

  She marches through the doors of the jail and across the parking lot at such a grueling pace I have to jog to catch up. It’s not until we reach her car that she says something.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, it doesn’t look good.” She slumps into the driver’s seat of her Mini Cooper.

  “I know.” I massage my temples, replaying all the facts Eli gave me. “How is he?”

  “Surprisingly calm given the situation and not nearly as cooperative as he should be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are holes in his timeline from last night.” She fiddles with her car keys. “And I basically had to coerce every bit of information out of him.”

  “What holes?” I ask. “I can tell you where he was.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes,” I say, hating the uncertainty in my voice. “He was at the restaurant, then Vino Valentine, and then his place.”

  Sage pierces me with her blue eyes, musing. “Either way, I got what I needed.”

  She starts the car, turning up the AC, the sun having baked the dark seats. I buckle my seat belt, wondering what exactly Sage isn’t saying.

  I can barely bring myself to ask the next question. “Did Reid—uh—say anything?”

  “He wanted me to tell you three things,” she starts, twisting in her seat so she can face me. “The first is if you’d be willing to check on William.”

  William is Reid’s cat. He’s a sweet tuxedo kitty named after the war hero from Braveheart, as Reid would proudly proclaim. It’s high time William and Zin spent some time together. I nod. So far, so good.

  “The second is to call his mother and let her know the situation.” She adds hurriedly, “So, yeah, good luck with that.”

  I wince. That’s going to be one painful phone call.

  Sage continues, “Third, shut down Spoons. Temporarily.”

  The planner in me immediately constructs a to-do list. This request will involve a stop by the restaurant and likely enlisting the help of Britt or Nick, but I’ll do anything I can to help Reid.

  I wait for Sage to continue. To tell me my boyfriend loves me with the passion of the ages—of poets, artists, and vintners.

  But she shifts her car into reverse and backs out of the parking lot.

  “Wait, that’s it?”

  “Well, he also said not to worry about him, but I figure there’s a fat chance of that happening.”

  She’s right. I’m basically a bundle of nerves and caffeine, a recipe for anxiety.

  “But, yep, that’s all she wrote. Or he wrote.” She shakes her head, her ponytail swinging back and forth. “Whatever.”

  I tell myself not to panic. Reid clearly has other things on his mind. Besides, I’m a strong, independent woman; I don’t need a man’s validation. Still, my cheeks flush in embarrassment. Why did I choose today to drop the L-word again?

  I take a deep yoga breath and focus on what’s important. “Can you get him out of this?”

  Sage pulls the car to a stop at an intersection, the ticking of her blinker the only sound. Even though there are no cars in either direction, she doesn’t proceed down the hilly road.

  “I’m going to try my hardest, but I don’t know,” she says, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, her demeanor a far cry from the confidence she was radiating minutes ago. “At least you have a visitation scheduled for tomorrow in case the arraignment doesn’t sway in his favor.”

  She eyes me warily, like I might burst into tears again. Can’t say I blame her.

  However, far from provoking sadness, the sight of Reid incarcerated reinforced my steadfast belief in his innocence, and it effectively pissed me off.

  New businesses have enough hurdles without a misplaced murder accusation. The harsh reality is this: with Reid out of commission combined with the backlash this debacle will incite, Spoons may not survive.

  Not to mention our relationship. Am I really going to let Eli, the authorities, or some faceless judge ruin our chance at a long-lasting romance? I think not.

  And that’s not all. Our partnership—pairing food and wine—was just getting off the ground. Sure, Vino Valentine might weather this storm, but working with Reid has been a dream, and I’m not ready for it to end.

  Then there’s Oscar.

  My chest clenches. I’ll never get to hear Oscar call me Uvas again. Never get to marvel at the flavors he coaxes out of simple ingredients. Never get to relish his playful banter.

  Oscar didn’t deserve to die. Especially not by his friend’s sword—er, knife.

  With all of these thoughts swirling through my mind, I vow to uncover what really happened last night.

  Chapter

  Five

  There are a few things I imagined telling Camilla the next time I chatted with her. One, that Reid and I are stronger than ever and definitely not breaking up. Two, that winemaking is freaking hard and the fact that Vino Valentine is flourishing speaks volumes more about my craft than any of her or Gary’s veiled criticisms. Three, that many popular lifestyle brands endorse hiking as a means to achieve mindfulness.

  That her son has been arrested for murder never made the list. Never even entered my mind as being in the realm of possibility. Which is probably why I’ve failed to find the words.

  I couldn’t find the words on the ride back to my apartment. Or during the long, hot shower I treated myself to after Sage left for work. Or while I transformed my appearance into that of a professional entrepreneur.

  I applied lip gloss, dabbed jasmine perfume on the insides of my wrists, and ran my fingers through my hair until the raven locks got an intentionally mussed look. Then I changed into slate-gray slacks and a sapphire sweater that brings out the blue in my eyes. Lastly, I clasped my beaded necklace around my neck—a fine white-gold chain dotted with miniature crystal grapes—willing my aunt’s gift to give me strength today.

  Not only was Aunt Laura the cool aunt everybody wished they had, always there for my brother, Liam, and me, sneaking us sweets when we
were younger and shooters when we were older, but she was also my staunchest supporter.

  She was the first person I told about my plans to open Vino Valentine and, far from talking me out of it like my mom would have done (and eventually did try to do), she invested in it. Her belief in me gave me the confidence to follow through with my dream. However crazy it may have seemed.

  Even though she’s been gone for more than two years, there are times I keenly feel her presence.

  And what she would tell me now is this: stop avoiding the inevitable.

  She would be right; I’ve put off this task long enough.

  I plant myself on my couch with my phone in my lap, chewing on my lower lip. Should I engage in small talk, ask how their trip is going so far, or just rip off the Band-Aid? Should I start with hi or hello?

  You’d think I’d never used a telephone before.

  Zin hops onto the couch beside me and kneads at her favorite afghan blanket, a sunbeam stretching across the russet surface and onto the geometric-print rug. I scratch behind her ears and she purrs, rubbing her kitty cheek against my fingers. One of the great things about pets is that they love you no matter what outlandish things may be going on in your life.

  With that thought in mind, I call the St Julien Hotel and ask for the Wallaces’ room.

  “Yes,” a poised voice answers.

  Suave broad that I am, I immediately drop my phone and scramble to pick it up. “Hi, Camilla?”

  There’s a long sigh into the phone. “And who might this be?”

  “It’s Parker. Parker Valentine. Reid’s girlfriend.”

  “Yes. Hello.” Her disappointment is tangible, and it’s only going to get worse.

  “I—uh—well, I don’t quite know how to say this, so I’m just going to spit it out.” I give a nervous chuckle and continue, “Reid’s been arrested. For the murder of his sous chef Oscar Flores.” On a roll now, the words pour out. “Only, there’s been some sort of mistake. There’s no way he could have done it, no matter how much evidence the detective thinks he has. Anyway, Reid wanted me to call you and let you know. So . . .” I trail off, taking a much-needed breath.