Page 46 of A Vintage of Regret
Before her parents’ divorce, that house had been everything—birthday parties in the backyard, her dad grilling while her mom sipped Chardonnay and complained about the mosquitoes. Sleepovers with friends in the living room. The clatter of dishes during dinner, her dad making corny jokes until Grant rolled his eyes.
She took a sip of coffee, trying to ground herself in the bitter warmth, but the memories pressed harder. Her gaze drifted to the narrow strip of grass that marked the property line. Onimpulse, she rose from the chair, bare feet brushing over the weathered porch boards. She stepped off onto the cool dew-covered lawn and walked toward it, heart tugging in a hundred directions.
She had no idea who lived there now, but it looked as though it needed some tender loving care. Grant had told her it had changed owners twice. Bryson had mentioned that if it went on the market again, his family would buy it, fix it up, and make another guest house out of it.
“Thinking about jumping the fence?”
She turned toward the deep voice, finding Walter stepping out onto the porch, coffee mug in hand, his frame filling the doorway. He wore faded jeans and a colorful flannel, no different from how she remembered him from high school—steady, grounded, with eyes that saw too much and judged too little.
He’d always been like a second father, and she’d loved sitting in the back, out near the vineyard, in front of a bonfire, listening to her dad and Walter tell stories from when they were little. How there hadn’t been as many rows, how they’d both loved the crush pad, and when they got older, tasting the wine with their fathers. It was a great tradition.
“I was just… looking,” Riley said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she made her way back toward the porch. “I heard if that place goes up for sale, you’d snatch it up. But I can’t imagine why you’d need another guest house.”
Walter gave her a small smile, the kind that didn’t ask for more than she wanted to give. “I honestly have no idea what I’d do with it.” He laughed. “But I’m more determined now than ever. To me, that was Sean’s place. And I wouldn’t mind honoring him… somehow.”
“My dad loved that house. It was hard for him to sell it, but my mom didn’t want it, and he couldn’t … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be going on about this.”
“No need to apologize.”
Riley settled back into her chair. “I don’t want to be alone. Not yet. But staying here… I feel like I’m intruding.”
“You’re always welcome.” With a quiet grunt, Walter lowered himself into the chair beside her. “From the moment Bryson dragged you across the yard as fast as those little legs of yours would take you when you were all of maybe two, you’ve been family to us.”
She let his words sit for a moment before the weight of the other thing she’d been holding pressed forward. “Walter… about that letter my dad sent.”
“No point in worrying too much about that right now.”
“But the implications of it all. What it could mean about my father’s death.”
Walter glanced up. “The police are looking into the embezzlement. The autopsy report will tell us what caused your father’s death, and honestly, there’s no reason to believe it was anything other than a heart attack.”
“Do you believe that? Can you say, with certainty, that someone stealing money—potentially my brother—the letter, and my dad dropping dead doesn’t feel like a scene from a true crime novel or something?”
Walter shifted. “I’ve been staring at those books for a few weeks. Something isn’t right. But I don’t have the full picture. We’re gonna get that today. Do I believe your brother would steal from the town?” He rubbed his jaw. “That’s a tough one. Grant did some stupid things when he was a boy. But all teenagers do that.” He lowered his gaze. “Like when I caught you and Bryson taking my sports car out for a joy ride.”
She laughed, waving her hand. “In my defense, Bryson told me he had your permission.”
“I don’t doubt that. He was trying to impress his girlfriend…among other things.”
Heat rose from Riley’s toes to her cheeks.
“But there’s motivation behind all our actions. I don’t see what Grant has to gain from stealing from our community. It makes no sense. Not even to fund his second spa. He had more than enough money to do that. It’s why I’d like to have a conversation with him… after I’ve had a chance to make some more notes. Perhaps on Monday, after all the drama from the garden party has died down.”
Riley groaned. “I’m so glad I’m not attending that.”
“I wish I wasn’t.” Walter sighed. “Monica has taken all the joy out of it for Brea and me.” He winced and leaned forward. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned her name.”
“It’s fine. I’m sure Bryson told you about my run-in with her.”
“He mentioned it,” Walter admitted. “She’s a sore subject for everyone in this family, but I can’t imagine that was easy for you. She tends to believe she still has some rights to our name, this family… and Bryson.”
“Yeah, she made that perfectly clear.”
“You’re the better woman.” Walter patted her hand. “If it makes you feel any better, my son nearly jilted her. But his sense of honor got in the way.”
The screen door banged lightly, and Bryson stepped out. His hair was damp, his jaw tight, and he moved like someone already carrying too much on his shoulders. “Seriously?” he said, looking at Walter. “You encouraged Devon to have the conversation?”
Walter frowned. “I’m not sure I know what you're talking about.”
