Page 85 of A Vintage of Regret
“What does any of this mean?” Riley asked, frustration seeping from every pore of her skin. She glanced at her sister, who wiped a tear from her eye. Turning her attention to Harlan, she said, “You’ve been awfully quiet. Shouldn’t you be advising my brother as to what he should and shouldn’t be saying?”
Harlan put down his pen, resting his hand on a stack of papers. “I’ll stop him, or Sandy, if I think the conversation is derailing, but so far, this is all favorable for Grant. Not so much for Elizabeth or Monica. Let’s hear the rest of what Sandy has to say.”
“Before I break this down, I need to say something.” Sandy’s gaze swept the table. “The autopsy isn’t finalized yet, but I’ll be blunt—it’s leaning toward homicide.”
The word registered with cold clarity..
Homicide.
A half-forgotten memory bubbled up from somewhere deep in her subconscious—her father in the vineyard at sunset, shoulders relaxed, wine glass in hand, smiling like nothing in the world could hurt them. She could still hear his gravelly chuckle when he teased her about always wanting to "fly away somewhere new." Having it confirmed—actually hearing Sandy say the word homicide—made the abstract possibility suddenly, terribly real. Someone had deliberately taken that from her, from him. The finality of it settled into her chest like a weight she'd have to carry forever.
She reached out with both hands, one curling around Erin’s fingers, the other landing on Grant's.
Grant’s voice came out low. “I didn’t?—”
“This is where I say, stop talking, Grant.” Harlan lowered his chin.
“Thing is, I’m inclined to believe Grant above anyone else,” Sandy said. “But this is where some facts get blurred with my instincts.” She pulled up a stool, sat down, and clasped her hands together. “Grant swears he stopped by his mom’s the morning of his dad’s death. Once there, she begged him to quietly return the money. No one would be the wiser since she thought the only people who knew were her, Sean, and now Grant.”
“That’s exactly what happened,” Grant said behind gritted teeth.
“That and you say she gave you two cups of coffee. One labeled?—”
Grant slammed his hand on the table. “I’m not lying.”
“I think it’s your mother who’s not being forthright,” Sandy cut in. “She denies seeing you that morning. Denies giving you coffee.” She leaned forward slightly. “It’s your word against hers, but we questioned Parker about it.”
“Oh, my god,” Erin gasped. “And?”
“Parker admits Grant was at the house that morning. Went on about that damn leaky faucet,” Sandy said. “But we don’t have the mug. Without it, I can’t prove who poured the coffee or what was in it.”
“Also, a husband can’t be forced to testify against his wife,” Harlan piped in.
“You’re not much help today,” Riley muttered. “Can you tell us what was found in the toxicology report?”
“I can’t answer that,” Sandy said.
Harlan leaned back, folding his arms. “Where do you stand on motive?”
“That’s an interesting question.” Sandy drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Now, no yelling. No name-calling. Just listen.”
“Alright.” Grant gave a bitter laugh.
“Grant’s name is all over this mess. It’s hard not to look at him for embezzlement. But I can’t find a motive for it,” Sandy said. “However, we can find one for homicide if he did steal the money, though.”
Riley closed her eyes and tried to pretend she didn’t just hear those words come from her friend's mouth.
“Elizabeth has motives for both,” Sandy said flatly. “She’s broke, and she needs to cover her tracks. But if I’m going to prove it, I need your help.”
“Help how?” Harlan asked.
“I’ve spoken to the local FBI office about all this, and we’re in agreement. We want Grant to wear a wire. Talk to her. Get her to confess.” Sandy leaned back, glancing around the room.
Erin’s hand flew to her mouth, tears dribbling down her cheek.
Riley sat there with her mouth gaping open.
Grant leaned back, arms folded across his massive chest. “You want me to waltz into my mother’s house, with something strapped to my chest, sweating bullets, and get her to cop to one, stealing half a million dollars over the course of a couple of months? And two, killing our father? Her ex-husband?”
