Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“She’s not my only fuck these days, and even if she was, I’m fucking her. She’s not fucking me. We’re going to talk about how that plays out with you and Faith. I’ll be there in fifteen.” He hangs up, and I stand, taking the empty glass and bottle with me to the kitchen. I don’t refill that glass. I make an old-fashioned pot of coffee, because I like the insulated pot right next to me while I work, and on quick pour.
I then sit down at the island, my stacks of work in front of me, my briefcase locked and to my right. I punch in the combination and open it, pulling out my father’s handwritten note to read it again, homing in on those poison words: Faith is dangerous. She was a threat. How? I grab a note pad and start writing down my thoughts:
—My father had to have been after the winery, but why? Is it worth more than we think? It has to be. Actions needed:
—Get assessment done Monday.
—Beck needs to find out what might be beyond the obvious.
Moving on…next item:
—Why call Faith Dangerous? COVERED. He had to have felt she was dangerous to his plan.
—Seven to ten million wouldn’t motivate a man who was damn near a billionaire at that stage in his life. Would it? No. COVERED.
—Why pay Meredith Winter one million dollars in staggered payments? Down payment on the winery? But she couldn’t sell without Faith—is that why Faith was dangerous? She could stop the sale? Back to: Why is the winery more valuable than it appears?
—Autopsy results—WHEN?
—If someone killed my father and Faith’s mother, doesn’t that imply that my father and her mother were on the same side? Unless my father convinced Meredith Winter to be on his side. Or she convinced him to be on her side. Or they were both such players they were playing each other, but either way they both ended up dead, by the same means. The same person had to have killed them. And that person was NOT Faith.
I move on to another key list, and one to discuss with Beck:
Suspects:
—Someone associated with the bank.
—Ask Faith for a meeting with Cameron Lemon, with her present so he will talk.
—Faith’s present-day attorney when she met me—he’s her father’s friend, but it appears her father’s friends were usually her mother’s friends as well, and in Meredith Winter’s case, that’s a problem.
—Faith’s uncle—enough said.
—Kasey, or another staff member at the winery, but Kasey would be the one who knows intimate details of the winery and family—sleeping with Meredith Winter?
—Any one of Meredith Winter’s lovers, with a focus on the long-term boyfriend right before my father that Beck has found.
—An unknown I have yet to identify or see a link to connect them to Meredith and my father.
My coffee finishes brewing, and I fill a cup, bring the pot to the island, and ready it for future pours before reviewing my new list several times over. My focus is on why my father would pay Meredith Winter a million dollars and in installments. Somewhere in that act is an answer to every question I have and some I probably don’t know to ask. Yet. I will.
The doorbell rings, which says the $25k bottle of booze has Abel showing some manners for once, and of course he chooses now, while Faith is sleeping. Fully intending to soften his edges where she’s concerned, and before he meets her, I make fast tracks for the door. Abel doesn’t wait on my arrival. Clearly impatient, he’s used my back-up key and is opening the door as I arrive. He steps inside the foyer, his typical designer suit replaced with his weekend faded ripped jeans, plus a T-shirt that sports the Harley logo and supports the man’s obsession with the brand and the bikes. “Take me to the wonderland of whiskey,” he says, shutting the door and sliding his key back into his pocket. “Because I do have something to celebrate.” He runs his hand over his buzzed blond hair as he adds, “Remember that Navy SEAL judge I buzzed my head to impress?” He doesn’t wait for my confirmation. “He dismissed my case, and I landed a six-figure paycheck.”
I back up to give him space to pass. “Not bad for a week’s work.”
“Not bad at all,” he agrees, heading down the hallway.
I follow him, his destination the island or, rather, the long-ass bar that serves as the island, but he doesn’t stop there. He drops his briefcase on a seat and heads to the bar. I walk back to my seat behind the island and face the living area, keeping the stairs that Faith would have to travel to join us in view. While Abel’s view is on my many whiskey choices. “Was the client guilty or innocent?” I ask, thrumming my pen on the shiny, white granite counter.