As if by magic, flashing neon signs appeared on the shoulder of the road. Each neon sign was a different color and seemed to float in the air like a holograph.
“What the—” Tyler swerved to avoid a bright green neon sign that suddenly jumped out from the roadside to block the windshield.
You’re getting close to wines
“Watch out!” I gripped the door handle as Tyler hit the brakes. The car skidded sideways before straightening out. “That was close—”
“Hang on.” Tyler braked hard and slowed to a crawl as the second sign, this time hot pink, hovered above the Jeep’s hood.
The best from local vines
The flashing neon signs seemed to float above us with no apparent means of support, a blatant use of witchy powers.
Aunt Pearl knew we would see them. She was willing to take the risk in order to salvage the wine festival. On second thought, this had to be more about her. I doubted she cared about the wine festival at all. The pink sign drifted across to the opposite shoulder as a yellow neon sign replaced it:
Don’t pine for your wines
Thankfully there was no other traffic because Tyler had to swerve the Jeep to avoid the signs that seemed to come out of nowhere. Red, gold, white, blue…
It’s getting close
Get ready to toast
The winning wine
It’s not who you think!
Have a drink
Wine not?
You deserve it.
Turn here
There were so many signs that we had to slow down to read them all.
“Cheeky,” Tyler said. “Pearl sure knows how to market.”
“Aunt Pearl usually drives traffic away from Westwick Corners, not to it. She’s up to something.” Something besides selling wine because Aunt Pearl always had a hidden motive. I just couldn’t figure out what it was this time.
As we neared the school parking lot, a larger sign appeared:
Antonio Lombard Fundraiser Wine Bar
Beat the Bank
We hadn’t noticed the signs when we left the wine festival because they faced one direction only. A fundraiser for Antonio was sure to be misinterpreted once he was charged with Richard’s murder.
As Tyler slowed to pull into the parking lot, we passed Aunt Pearl’s roadside bar. Only this time it was deserted. The RV door was closed, and the tables and chairs were empty. Instead of wine sipping customers and cases of wine there remained only discarded wineglasses and empty cartons.
The street party was over.
Chapter 15
Tyler had just parked the Jeep when the Shady Creek police called to debrief him on the crime scene evidence.
As I waited, I noticed that Richard’s Corvette had remained in the same spot. The convertible top was still down and water rivulets collected in the grooves of the leather seats. Desiree’s Verdant Valley Vineyards wine was no longer in the backseat.
As Tyler discussed the forensic evidence, I decided not to wait any longer. He could meet me inside once he finished his call.
I exited the passenger seat and headed to the gym. The loud voices that drifted outside from the open doors sounded more like a rowdy Saturday night party than an early afternoon community festival.
As I strolled inside, it was apparent where Aunt Pearl’s customers had gone. The whole town was here, but the wine industry folks seemed to have left.
The festive vibe jarred my somber mood. Of course, no one knew about Richard’s murder yet. They didn’t appear to notice his absence either.
Just as I wondered whether the judging had finished, or possibly never even started, microphone feedback squealed over the overhead speakers.
I winced at the high-pitched noise and looked to the stage.
Aunt Pearl stood in front of a microphone almost as tall as she was. She hadn’t wasted any time in taking over. That was good, in a way. Knowing her, all the judging would be over quickly because no one dared argue with her. Tyler wouldn’t have to make any excuses about Richard’s absence to the two other judges, and the event would wrap up on time.
“Listen up, everybody,” Aunt Pearl yelled into the microphone.
I cupped my hands over my ears to deaden the microphone feedback as I caught her eye.
She stood centerstage in her sparkly red-sequined tracksuit and tilted the microphone toward herself in a Mick Jagger-esque crooner stance. She hadn’t bothered to adjust it lower, probably expecting that everything would be over quickly. “Judging starts in five minutes!”
Behind her was a long table covered with a white linen tablecloth. Two of the three chairs were occupied by two of the three judges, a woman and a man. Richard’s chair in the middle was conspicuously empty.
While increasing the judges to three this year seemed more democratic, one was Carol, Richard’s employee at the bank, and the other was Reggie, his golfing buddy. Or had been. I stared at Richard’s empty chair. The three-judge format was only for show. They would have followed his lead. How would they do that in his absence?
Nobody on stage seemed to question Aunt Pearl’s authority or Richard’s absence. Maybe they were anxious for judging to start. Or maybe they were too drunk to care.
At the side of the stage was an identical table covered with dozens of wineglasses. Lacey Ratcliffe, a twenty-something friend of Trina’s, stood behind the table. Her job was to provide each judge with a fresh wineglass for every wine sample and then collect the empty wineglasses after each taste test.
Aunt Pearl spoke into the microphone. “Heads up, everyone. Richard’s a no-show, so we’ve made a change in judging. Please welcome Judge Earl.” She waved her hand in a flourish.
Aunt Pearl’s boyfriend was an easy-going sort, but right now he looked like he’d rather be anywhere than onstage. His eyes darted back and forth eyeing stage left
