Chapter 2 - IN THE DARK

The police arrived in minutes. Sirens wailed through the valley, reflecting off the dark vineyards.

The acquisition dinner had turned into a crime scene.

Detectives were cordoning off the driveway, separating guests, and taking statements.

Adrian sat on the stone steps of the terrace, his head in his hands. Serena had been rushed to the hospital in critical condition. Her father was zipped in a body bag.

Margaret and Vance were cornered near the rose garden by a lead detective.

I stood in the shadows near the catering vans. I still had the cellar ledger tucked into my apron. I had the cork. I had the cufflink. I had everything the police needed to arrest them both.

But if I handed it over now, Margaret would frame Vance, and Vance would frame Margaret. With their money and lawyers, they might both walk free, claiming Richard poisoned himself out of guilt.

I needed a confession on tape. A real one.

I walked over to Adrian.

“Adrian,” I whispered.

He looked up, his eyes bloodshot. “She killed them, Clara. My own mother.”

“I can prove it. But I need your help. We need to get Vance and your mother in the same room. Alone. And we need to make them turn on each other.”

Adrian stood up, his jaw set. “How?”

“Vance kept a ledger. There are two poisoned bottles left. One marked for your mother. One marked for you.”

Adrian blanched.

“I need to get into Vance’s briefcase,” I said. “He never goes anywhere without it. If he brought the stamp and the ledger to the party, he might have brought the remaining bottles to dispose of them. Or to use them.”

Adrian nodded. “His briefcase is in the coatroom. He left it there when he arrived.”

We slipped past the distracted police officers and hurried into the mansion. The main hall was empty, everyone outside watching the spectacle.

We found the coatroom. Vance’s heavy leather briefcase was sitting on a low shelf.

It was locked with a combination.

“Damn it,” Adrian muttered.

“Wait,” I said. “Nine years ago. The year your father died. What year was the Margaux?”

“1982,” Adrian said.

I spun the dials. 1-9-8-2.

The brass locks snapped open.

Inside were stacks of legal documents for the merger. But underneath them, wrapped in thick bubble wrap, was a single bottle of wine.

1982 Château Margaux.

The wax seal was intact. The crest was there.

“This is it,” I said, pulling it out. “This is one of the last two.”

“What do we do with it?”

“We serve it to them.”

Adrian stared at me. “You want to murder them?”

“No. We're going to bluff. We need to make them think they're drinking the poison.”

I ran to the main catering station in the kitchen. I grabbed an empty, clean bottle of a different Bordeaux and quickly poured a cheap, harmless house red into it. Then, using my sommelier tools, I carefully peeled the wax crest off Vance’s poisoned bottle and transferred it to the fake bottle, securing it with a lighter.

I now had a harmless bottle that looked exactly like the deadly one.

I hid the real poisoned bottle in the catering fridge.

“Go get them,” I told Adrian. “Tell them you found the laptop. Tell them you know how to make this all go away, but you need to meet them in the private dining room.”

Ten minutes later, the heavy oak doors of the private dining room closed.

Margaret, Vance, and Adrian sat around the massive mahogany table.

I stood in the corner, holding a silver tray. On it was the fake bottle of Margaux, and three crystal glasses.

“What is this, Adrian?” Margaret snapped. “The police are outside. We don't have time for a family meeting.”

“We have time for a toast,” Adrian said coldly.

I stepped forward. I placed the bottle in the center of the table.

Vance’s eyes locked onto the wax seal. The color completely drained from his face.

Margaret stared at it, her composure cracking for the first time.

“Where did you get that?” Vance choked out.

“From your briefcase, Vance,” Adrian said. “Clara, pour the wine.”

I pulled out my corkscrew. I cut the foil, drove the worm into the cork, and pulled it free with a loud pop.

I poured a generous measure into Margaret’s glass. Then Vance’s. Then Adrian’s.

“Drink,” Adrian commanded.

Neither Margaret nor Vance moved a muscle.

“It’s a magnificent vintage,” Adrian pushed, raising his own glass. “A favorite of my father’s, wasn't it?”

“Adrian, put the glass down,” Margaret ordered, panic edging into her voice.

“Why? Is it turned? Has it been... tampered with?” Adrian smiled bitterly. “Drink it, Mother. If you didn't kill my father, then it's just wine.”

Margaret looked at Vance. “Tell him.”

Vance shook his head, sweating profusely. “It’s poisoned, Adrian. Don't drink it.”

“I know it is,” Adrian yelled, slamming his fist on the table. “I know you both did it! Confess, or I swear to God I will drink this glass right now and die in front of you!”

Adrian raised the glass to his lips.

“Stop!” Margaret screamed. She lunged across the table, knocking the glass from Adrian’s hand. It shattered against the wall, red wine dripping down the wallpaper like blood.

Margaret collapsed into her chair, sobbing.

“We did it,” she wept. “Vance prepared the wine. I gave it to him. We did it. Please, Adrian, don't.”

Vance buried his face in his hands. “She made me. She said she’d ruin my career.”

Adrian pulled my phone from his pocket. The screen was lit up.