Erica Spindler: Blood Vines

Unable to sit still, she climbed out of bed and began to pace. Could Reed be her brother? She couldn’t focus on the horror of that, not now. She needed to discover if Wayne Reed really was her father. And if he was-had he killed to keep his secret safe?

As she paced, her thoughts whirled. Again and again, she analyzed the things she knew to be true-and those she didn’t. The minutes ticked into an hour, then two. But the same questions remained. Plus others.

How did she prove it? Where did Dylan’s disappearance fit into the scenario? If the Boys of the Vine had been a lie, what did BOV mean? And the image of the vines and snake?

She couldn’t do this alone. But who could she turn to? Not Reed. Tim was dead. Rachel, she realized. She was the only one she had left.

“Tim of the chopsticks.”

Alex hesitated. her stomach seeming to crawl up to her throat. What did she choose to believe? That’s what it came down to.

And in her heart-and gut-she believed Rachel was on her side.

She had no one else. Do it. Now.

Alex started out of the bedroom, then hesitated. What if Rachel thought she was crazy, the same as Reed did? What would she do then? Who would she turn to?

She couldn’t worry about that now. She had to do this.

Alex exited the bedroom and hurried down the hall to Rachel’s. She rapped on the door. “Rachel,” she called. “It’s Alex. I have to talk to you.”

The light popped on and Rachel responded with a thick-sounding “Come in.”

Rachel was sitting up in bed, bleary-eyed with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

“I need your help. I know who killed Tim.”

Rachel’s eyes widened. “My God, who?”

“My father. Wayne Reed.”

For a long moment, Rachel simply stared at her. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“And you’re certain? You have proof?”

Alex shook her head. This was the point it got tricky. “I think I’m right. The pieces fit, but-”

“But you have no proof?”

“No.”

Rachel held her gaze. “Then, what do you have, Alex?”

Wednesday, March 17

1:40 A.M.

They agreed to meet in the kitchen in five minutes. Rachel claimed she couldn’t think without caffeine and Alex used the time to collect the baby brush and prepare her thoughts.

When she entered the kitchen, Rachel was already there, preparing lattes at a high-tech-looking machine. She wore a fuzzy robe and Uggs. She shuffled across to the breakfast counter with the two drinks. “Quad shot for me,” she said. “Single for you. You look like you’re already wide awake.”

She was, Alex acknowledged. Her every nerve ending seemed to be humming. Truth was, even a little caffeine might be too much.

Rachel sank onto one of the bar stools. “Hit me with it, Alex. Whatcha got?”

Alex launched in. She started at the beginning, sharing everything, every event, thought, comment and feeling. She told her about Rita Welsh and what she had learned about her mother from her; she shared the BOV story-her voice growing thick with emotion. She described her visions, her nightmares and the details of her panic attacks in the caves.

Rachel finished her latte and made another. She listened attentively, rarely commenting.

Alex explained how she had recognized the sandalwood scent and learned it was Lyla Reed’s favorite. And how Clark’s aggression in the winery had made its way into her dreams.

“How so?” Rachel asked, standing and crossing to the coffee machine for a sprinkle of cinnamon.

“His voice. And something he said-‘You want to know so bad. I’ll show you.’ ”

Rachel didn’t reply, and she went on. Deciding to hide nothing, lay it all out for the other woman to examine, Alex shared that she and Reed had become lovers.

Finally, she explained why she had called Tim. How she feared for her own sanity, then about his call to her at the spa, detailing the things he’d said about her father, and finally describing returning to her rental and finding Tim dead. Her grueling interview by the police.

Alex took a deep breath. “That package you gave me last night was from that old friend of my mother’s, Rita the librarian. My silver baby brush. My mother left it the last time Rita babysat for me and she’d found it while packing to move.”

Rachel still stood at the espresso machine, back to her. “Rach?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” The other woman turned. Alex thought she looked strange. Her latte sloshed over the rim as she carried her beverage to the table.

She handed Rachel the baby brush. She watched as Rachel unwrapped it, turned it over in her hands, then read the inscription. Her expression altered slightly. She lifted her gaze to Alex’s. “So, why Wayne Reed?”

“Mainly because the BOV story originated with him. But the rest works as well. He wanted me to go away. He warned me away from his sons. He’s the scion of an old wine family. The strong scent from my episode in the cave was Lyla Reed’s scent.”

Completely spent, she laid her head on her arms, folded on the counter in front of her. Wordlessly, Rachel set about making them toast, pouring juice.

The horizon lightened; they ate the simple meal in silence. The food helped, delivering a small burst of energy. Alex looked at Rachel. “Reed doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Rachel said softly. “I know you’re not.”

“How, Rachel? How do you know?”

“Because I lived through the same nightmare.”

The same nightmare. Of course. Rachel was implicated-because she was a part of it as well. Alex experienced an almost dizzying relief.

She wasn’t alone. Not anymore. This wasn’t just about her, it was about Rachel, too.

Because of Dylan. Because of what happened to him.

“Why now?” Alex asked. “After all these years-”

“Because he was found! His remains. That was our brother who was dug up in that vineyard. Our brother who had been stuffed into a wine crate and buried.”

“I didn’t think he’d been positively identified. When-”

“Dad ID’d them. He’s positive.”

Reed hadn’t told her.

“Dylan’s killer is out there, Alex. And I think you being here is making him nervous.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because you know who he is. You saw something that night, something you repressed.”

Alex shook her head in denial, though she knew in her gut that Rachel was right.

Rachel grabbed her hands. “First that night in the cave at Red Crest, then later here, in this one, something happened to you. Something terrifying-and terrifyingly real. We both know why.”

Alex swallowed and nodded.

“The police found blood outside the cave entrance.”

“Dylan’s?”

“His type. DNA wasn’t what it is now, but it was presumed that, yes, it was his.”

Alex felt sick. “From what I told you, do you think my father killed Tim?”

“I don’t know. Why else would someone want Tim dead?”

Alex shook her head. “He didn’t know anybody here but me. He was murdered in my kitchen, nothing was stolen, so-”

She bit back the last and looked at Rachel. “No wonder they think I did it. I’m the obvious choice.”

“But you didn’t kill him. And his last communication with you was about your father.”

“No,” Alex corrected, “it was his note. He said he had news for me.”

“So, unless you’re lying to me, we’ve got a no-brainer here. The question is, could Wayne Reed be your father?”

They fell silent. Alex thought of Reed, her feelings for him. The time they had spent together. How he would-

“Oh my God,” she said, suddenly remembering. “At Red Crest, the night of the launch party, Lyla was giving me a tour of the family trophy room. We were looking at the photographs on the walls… there was one of Wayne Reed with Robert Mondavi. She mentioned him by name.”