We Gather Together

"My dear, what do we tell the guests?"

"It's simple, Kate. We tell them nothing."

"Robert, that's wrong."

"No, it isn't. There is nothing to tell yet."

"They're going to notice the sirens and flashers."

"Yes, you're right about that." Ironside took out his phone again and dialed. "Tom. Bob Ironside here. You've been told. Fine. I need a favor. It's the Vintner's Thanksgiving party…what? Yes, use the east gate. I have enough of a three-ring circus here tonight without you all around. Can you control the media tonight? A plainclothes presence at our entrance. Yes, it is by invitation only. I owe you, Tom. Good night". He looked up at his wife.

"Tom Martinez was well ahead of me. He'll make sure his boys make as little noise as possible. The last thing he wants to do is scare Sonoma County's major source of income and tourism. He'll have plainclothes check the invitations and discourage the press. His crew will come in the east gate, no lights, and unmarked vehicles only."

"Robert, you think the killer is here, on our property, don't you?"

"I don't know, Kate. He could be. It's better to put up as much protection as we can."

"You have that look about you."

"What look?" Her husband smiled.

"I know where you'd rather be tonight and tomorrow."

"You're right about that, Kate. Right now, I'd like to know who our victim is and why someone killed him on our land." He took a ballpoint pen out of his pocket. "I need you to roll our friend over, my love. Careful where you step."

Kate grimaced but knelt and rolled the body over, wincing as she saw the close-range wounds.

"Do you recognize him, Robert?"

"No, I don't. Take the pen and see anything in his pockets that could identify him."

Kate took the proffered pen and gently pulled the flap pockets open. Without being prompted, she also checked the inside jacket and pants pockets.

"Do you feel anything like a wallet? Card case? Papers?"

"No, Robert, nothing."

"Check his pants."

Kate rolled the body back into its original position to check the rear pockets. "There's nothing there either, Robert."

"Someone doesn't want us to know who our man is." Ironside turned his face toward the gate and the approaching car. "Tom will have his work cut out for him on this one."

When the couple returned to their house, people were milling about the tables, glasses of wine in their hands, some holding small plates of Greta Saunders hors d'œuvres, all talking about various things. Jamie Roberts, their winery manager, approached Robert and Kate.

"Where have you two been?" He hissed.

"Jamie, bring us a glass of wine, would you, and one for yourself too. We'll meet you at the far end of the patio." The Chief pushed himself energetically towards the spot, Kate following him.

Jamie joined them, bringing three glasses and a bottle of Meritage. "Mark told me about this trick years ago. With him, you used coffee; with me, it's 'come, let's have a glass of wine, let's talk.' Eventually, you'll have a job for me to do. What is going on?"

Ironside explained the situation, giving Jamie enough information so he could help deflect nosy partygoers.

"Chief, there's been a murder on your property and a killer on the loose."

"Don't say anything to anyone about this. I'm letting the sheriff control the investigation."

"For now."

"There's no 'for now,' Jamie. It's his job."

"Until tomorrow."

The Chief scowled.

"Tomorrow, your weekend guests happen to be the police chief of Denver, an Associate Chief Justice of the California Superior Court, a former SFPD Captain, and a former San Fran detective officer; coincidentally, they all happened to work for you. All arriving in time to play Clue with their ex-boss in exchange for what? Greta's world-famous roasted turkey, cornbread, and roasted oyster stuffing, with Pappy Van Winkle bourbon pecan pie?"

"You forgot, the Executive Assistant to the Denver Police Chief will be here tomorrow as well," Kate added.

Jamie rolled his eyes.

"And I'm not putting them to work."

"Colonel Mustard in the vineyard with a shotgun. Who could resist that as an amuse-bouche?"

Ironside shook his head. "Jamie, you've got an overactive imagination."

"I know you too well. You love solving cases, especially when they're someone else's. Uh oh, it's time to mingle, you two; the place is filling up, and here comes Jimmy Brindensteel, vintner to the stars. You're on your own, boss." Laughing, Jamie left them to greet people.

"Robert, Katherine. I'm so glad to see you." Jimmy shook hands with the Chief and air-kissed Katherine on both sides of her face. He was a glossy, breezy young man in his mid-thirties. Everything about him screamed success. "Fabulous party. Fabulous. I'm going to have to work to top it next year. Hot air balloon rides, perhaps? Maybe I can steal Greta away? Her ceviche is to die for."

"You'll have to ask Greta. After this, she won't want to do anything on such a grand scale for a long time. Where is your wife tonight? I was looking forward to seeing her."

"She sends her regrets, Katherine. She's with clients in LA tonight." Jimmy's light tone indicated that his wife's no-show was irritating. He turned to Ironside."Chief, if I can call you that"

"Most people still do, Mr. Brindensteel."

"Oh, please, call me Jimmy. Whilst out walking tonight, I saw a lot of lights and cars in the east field, where your Cabernet Franc is growing. What's happening?"

"Tom Martinez called. He wanted to provide a bit of protection for everyone here and needed a command post away from the crowd. I agreed."

"How sad, I was hoping for true crime, and it's all about keeping the paparazzi at bay."

"I'm afraid so, Jimmy." Ironside took a long swallow of his wine. It was good. Maybe he should buy a case of it for his cellar. "Many guests here tonight would prefer not to have a camera flash in their eyes and just enjoy themselves."

"Speaking of that, I'm sure you would like to enjoy yourself as well."

"Yes, we would."

Jimmy Brindensteel walked away with a pout on his face. Damn Katherine for bringing up Randee. He was sure she was 'entertaining' a favorite client in Los Angeles. According to the private investigator, his name was Stan Roscommon, a hedge fund manager from San Diego. He met Randee at the Beverly Hills Hotel. They had a meeting, Randee made the sale, then they celebrated with a bottle of Tough Nickel Syrah, followed by dinner in the Polo Lounge and multiple drinks by the pool. When Randee spilled her drink on her dress, Stan invited her back to his bungalow to clean up. She didn't reappear until the following day. His wife was a significant reason for Tough Nickel's success and for it bleeding dark financial red each month. Her desire for the finer things made her a favored customer along Rodeo Drive. That addiction to fashion and her need to live at the same level as her affluent clientele caused many problems at the vineyard and gave truth to the winery's name.

"Jimmy," there was a touch on his sleeve. "I didn't think you were coming tonight."

He looked into the face of his vintner, Harley Algren.

"Hey, Harley, I-I didn't recognize you."

"And you can say it. I clean up well."

"You do."

"Glass of wine?"

"Certainly. I think they're required tonight."

"Red or white?"

"Surprise me."

Jimmy walked over to the red wine table and poured two glasses. He tried to look as casual as possible. "Paparazzi, my ass," he muttered. What a lame excuse he'd been given. He'd heard stories about Ironside and his former life as a cop. Former life, he reminded himself. Ironside had no authority here. He shouldn't have dumped the body at Chateau Ironside. That was stupid, but the body would give a false narrative. His next move would be far more cautious. He wasn't going to get caught. Tough Nickel would survive, as would he. He downed the wine, pouring himself another glass. He would outfox this old man.