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I stand up and head for the door, my gut telling me that the winery is connected to murder. And the murder is connected to Faith. I step outside and dial Beck, who answers on the first ring. “The bank wants the winery, which means someone powerful wants that winery. You need to find out who and now. And get someone watching Faith around the clock,” I say, doing what I should have done before. “Today.”
“I assume we don’t want Faith to know she’s being watched?”
“No,” I say. “We do not.”
“Then you don’t trust her.”
I inhale deeply, cool air blasting me right along with his words, which he’s using to bait me. He wants me to argue my reasoning, outside of her guilt. But I don’t give people ammunition to analyze me, and his paycheck is all the justification he deserves. “Just do it,” I say. “I’m headed into depositions. Text me when it’s done.” I end the call.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Faith
I woke on the hard floor of my studio, a smock over my clothes, and I have no idea how I let that happen. Or maybe I do. Nick was on my canvas and in my mind, but he wasn’t in my bed downstairs, where I’d be alone again. And those words:I’ll find out.They’d haunted me then and do now as I sit at my desk inside my tiny office at the winery. Those words made me ask again: are we friends or enemies? I’m confused and irritated that I somehow ended up in a black skirt and royal blue blouse today, the color reminding me of that damn dress he’d ripped. Of that moment he’d leaned in and licked me and then promised—I won’t stop next time.
“Why are you flushed?”
I look up to find Kasey in my doorway, his gray suit and tie as perfect as the work he does here at the winery. “Too much caffeine. Can you shut the door when you come in?”
“Of course,” he says, doing as I’ve asked and glancing around my box of an office. “Why do you stay in this hole? There are three bigger choices, including mine.”
“You get the corner office,” I say as he sits down. “You’re the boss. I’m just your assistant.”
“You never wanted to be here. It hurts me that you feel you have to be. I can handle this place, Faith.”
For the first time in a long time, I take those words to heart, despite knowing they’re true. “You can run this place. Youdorun this place. But there was my mother. No one but me could manage her.”
“Yes, well,” he says. “That’s a conversation we should have, Faith. She’s gone. I hate to say it, but that changes things. You are an artist. You have a budding career. You had a show again, which I still hate I couldn’t get a ticket to, by the way. How was it?”
“Wonderful,” I breathe out, because I just can’t stop myself. “It was really wonderful.”
“Good,” he says, his eyes warm with a pride I never saw in my father’s. Not in regard to my art. “There is no reason you can’t get back on that path.”
“Right now, we need to talk about the legal issues.”
“And the bill collectors,” he says. “We’ve been avoiding the elephant in the room for too long. Why wasn’t your mother paying the bills? What don’t I know?”
Nick’s words echo once again in my mind:What haven’t you told me, Faith?And I shove them aside. “I don’t have the answer to that question. We’re making money. Not what we were before we lost part of the vines, but we’re making money. And we never stopped making money. Right now, without a will, I’m locked out of her accounts, and there are legal steps I have to take to protect us. Nick Rogers, who you met yesterday, is coming on board to help.”
“I looked him up, and I was hoping like hell you were going to say that.”
I breathe out, thankful to Nick for the relief I see in Kasey’s eyes right now. “He wants to call you. He’s weeding through this mess and needs input.”
“I’m not sure how I can help, but of course,” he says. “Anything to get this mess behind us and get you out of this office.” He narrows his gaze on me. “There are at least three people here on staff that could step up and take on more, so you can get back to being you.”
“You know my father—”
“Was obsessed with you running this place. We all know that, but Faith, life is short. This place is my life. It’s why I get up in the morning and do so with excitement. Have you said that for even one day of your life that you’ve spent here?”
Yes, I think. This past Friday, when I knew I had a show and I was going to stay at my house.
“I didn’t think so,” he says when I haven’t answered quickly enough. “You pay me well, little one. I get incentives that made a difference before we lost the vines. This is not your dream. Go chase your dream.”
“The bill collectors—”
“You must think I’m a delicate flower,” he says. “I am not. You have Nick Rogers now. You’ll get your mother’s bank accounts unlocked and get everything up to date.”
I pray he’s right. And as confused by Nick as I am right now, I’m glad he’s involved.
