A Deadly Vineyard Holiday Read Free Page A

understand the situation we’re in. I’ll give you the bad part first: You’re the daughter of the president of the United States, and as far as everybody up at that house where you’re staying is concerned, you’ve disappeared. Since you’ve been gone quite awhile, I’m pretty sure somebody’s screwed his courage to the sticking point and told your folks by now. And because you’re missing, a lot of people there are going to suspect the worst. And at least four of those people are probably thinking that I have something to do with your disappearance. And they’re right, thanks to this ride you just took in my truck. So I imagine I’ll be having visitors before long, and when they get here, they’re going to be relieved to find out you haven’t been kidnapped or killed by some loony or loonies, but they’re also going to be pretty pissed off, and some of them will be sure that somehow or other I was involved with your taking off in the first place. You have not done me any favors by coming home with me this way.”
    She brushed her hair away from her brow. “I never thought of that. I’m sorry. I’ll wait, and when they get here, I’ll tell them what happened. I’m really sorry.” She pushed some remaining bit of her childhood away from her, and its loss bothered me.
    â€œOn the bright side,” I said, “they aren’t here yet. Youhave a little time to yourself, and I plan on mixing up some blueberry pancakes for breakfast. You a pancake eater?”
    â€œI’m not hungry.”
    â€œYou ever make pancakes?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIt’s time you learned. You can help in the kitchen. Come on in. The smell of breakfast cooking will wake Zee up, and she’ll eat with us.”
    â€œWho’s Zee?”
    â€œZee is my wife. Last night she worked until midnight, so she missed this morning’s fishing expedition. But she’ll get up for your blueberry pancakes.”
    We went inside, and she paused in the living room and looked around. Her eyes fell on the coffee table.
    â€œWhat’s this?”
    â€œThat’s a padlock in a vise, and those things are lock picks. I’m still trying to learn how to use them. I play around with them sometimes when I’m sitting on the couch. It beats watching TV.”
    â€œAre you a locksmith?”
    â€œNo, but I’ve always wanted to know how to pick locks. I can pick some now, but I still don’t have the magic touch,”
    She picked up our copy of Pistoleer and looked at the cover. Zee, 380 Beretta in her hand, smiled back at her. Zee, who had come in fourth in the women’s division of a pistol competition she and Manny Fonseca, her instructor, had attended, had come in first in the looks department and had made the cover. Sexism at its best.
    The girl put down the magazine, and we went into the kitchen, where I got out the pancake makings.
    â€œI don’t know,” said the girl. “I’ve never done this before.”
    â€œYou never landed a bluefish before this morning, either, but you managed that. You can do this, too. It’s good to know how to cook. It makes you more self-sufficient. Besides, you can cook the stuff you really like to eat whenever you want to.”
    I gave her the mixing bowl, and she went to work while I got the coffee started and set the table for three. Before I was through, Zee came out of the bedroom, wrapping her robe around herself, looking like Aurora. She smiled brightly at me and then a little less brightly at the girl.
    â€œGood morning. I smell breakfast.”
    She came to me and gave me a first-of-the-day kiss. Then she looked again at the girl. Then she looked yet again, then lifted her eyes to mine. Hers were wide.
    â€œShe tells me her name is Mary Jones,” I said. “We met on the beach, and she followed me home. Now she’s trying her hand at pancakes. You can join us