As I closed my notebook, shut down my computer, and turned off the lights, I thought how sad and oddly coincidental it was that the men’s friendship had come to an end inside a cave so far away from their home. Had Anton known that Jean Pierre was dead? Was he the one who killed him? It was awful to think that anyone related to Guru Bob was capable of murder. But if it wasn’t Anton, then who killed Jean Pierre Renaud?
I made sure Maggie was comfy and cozy in her bed in the den, then cuddled Charlie all the way to the bedroom, where I set her down in her little doughnut-shaped cat bed. My tiny kitten was growing up too fast. She was a few inches taller, and her pale fur was thicker and softer. Her face was just as adorable as ever, though, with tufts of light orange across her forehead and cheeks and big, inquisitive blue eyes. I gave her some light scratches behind her ears, and she purred as I gently admonished her to stay in bed. At home, she loved sleeping in her little doughnut bed, but since we’d been in Sonoma, she rarely stayed put all night. She hadn’t ventured out of the bedroom and probably wouldn’t, but I had found her curled up on the comfortable chintz rocking chair on more than a few occasions.
Derek woke up as soon as I climbed into bed, but he fell asleep almost as quickly after I kissed him good night. I chuckled to myself that Derek rarely went to bed this early in the city, but I guessed all this clean country air was wearing him out. Or more likely, the horrible Noland Garrity was simply exhausting to be around.
Sometime during the night, a low-pitched ringing woke me up. I blinked a few times, disoriented.
Derek sat up and grabbed his cell phone. I checked the alarm clock, saw that it was two forty-seven a.m., and almost groaned. Nothing good ever happened this late at night.
“I’ll be right there,” he said, and tapped the phone, ending the call.
“Who is it? What happened?” I had to shake my head back and forth to wake myself up. “Is somebody hurt?”
“Not yet,” he said flatly. He was already out of bed, grabbing a shirt and pulling on a pair of jeans. “Someone tried to break into the storage cave.”
Chapter Eleven
“I’m going with you.” I threw on a sweater and jeans, then slipped my feet into a pair of loafers, and we were out of the house in three minutes.
“I’ll bet it was Noland Garrity,” I muttered as Derek drove the three miles to the winery.
“What makes you think it’s him?” he asked.
“He’s so arrogant. It just figures he would try to get away with something like this. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”
“He’s arrogant, but he’s not stupid,” Derek murmured. “Let’s wait and see.”
I sat back in my seat and tapped my feet anxiously until we turned onto the winery road. “Oh, hey, maybe it’s Henri. He was angry enough to pull something like this.”
“Perhaps, although he was on his best behavior during the tour of the cave.” Derek turned into the lot and parked as close to the storage cave as we could. It was fifty yards away, and I could see some activity with Gabriel and his men, but I couldn’t make out any faces.
Gabriel met us halfway.
“Did you arrest him?” I asked.
“Him?” he said, then shrugged. “Not yet. Thought I’d wait for Derek to get here before calling the cops. He’s our interrogation specialist.”
I looked up at Derek. “You are?”
He threw his arm around my shoulders and didn’t bother to confirm or deny, which pretty much confirmed for me what Gabriel had said. “Let’s go see what we’ve got here.”
“A couple of clowns,” Gabriel muttered, which made no sense, unless he was teasing Derek and me.
But as we got closer to the storage door and saw his men holding two people captive, I realized what he was talking about.
“Ma’am, please remove your ski cap,” Gabriel said.
Ma’am? I watched the woman yank the ski cap off her head to reveal her shocking red hair.
“Darlene?” My gaze switched to the short man standing next to her. “Shawn? What’re you guys doing here?”
“Uh, hi, Brooklyn. Hi, Derek.” Shawn’s voice was meek as he scratched his head. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“He was using these when we got here.” With the tips of his thumb and forefinger, Gabriel held out a small plastic case filled with a set of thin tools. I recognized them because Derek had a similar set. They were used specifically for picking locks.
“I can explain,” Shawn said.
Darlene elbowed him. “You don’t have to explain anything.” She glared at me. “We’re innocent.”
“Carrying a set of lock picks and actually attempting to use them seems to indicate the contrary,” Derek told her.
“And then there’s this,” Gabriel continued blithely, pointing to one of his men, who held up a crowbar in his gloved hand.