Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Blackwood Estate Winery
Mabel’s Office
Later that morning, after Burke’s words faded, nobody moved.
“And I’m going to do everything in my power to find out who did this.”
The promise still hung in the air.
It didn't change the fact that Mabel was dead.
It didn't change that someone had walked into her bedroom and cut off her air.
It didn't change the memory of a gloved hand on Aubrey's window latch two nights ago.
The office, which had felt warm and sunlit only moments earlier, suddenly felt ten degrees colder.
Aubrey’s gaze drifted past Burke’s shoulder to the towering wall of glass. The Victorian sat beyond the vines, sun gleaming off its slate roof and white trim like a postcard.
It wasn’t a postcard anymore.
It was a crime scene.
Burke cleared his throat, the sound low and rough in the quiet.
“I need to get back to the station,” he said. “Call the state bureau, get my CSI folks rolling, pull Kincaid’s full file. We’ll start a formal case build this afternoon.”
He looked from Bennett to Aubrey and back again.
“In the meantime, I want both of you staying reachable. No trips to Asheville. No surprise flights back to Philadelphia. If I call, answer. If my deputy shows up, talk to him.”
Aubrey nodded automatically, her thoughts struggling to catch up.
“Okay,” she said. The word scraped out of her throat. “What… what are you doing first?”
“Scene reconstruction,” Burke said. “We treated that house like a natural-death scene the first time. We’re not making that mistake twice.” His expression hardened. “We’ll start with Mabel’s bedroom. Trace, prints, fibers—any sign the original walk-through missed.”
Bennett’s hand curled into a fist at his side.
“You’re going back in there today?” he asked.
“Soon as I can get a team up here,” Burke said. “I’ll call you when we’re on the way. I’d like one of you on-site when we process.”
Aubrey’s stomach dipped.
“You want me there?” she asked.
“I’m not going to drag you through every camera angle,” Burke said. “But this is your house now. If my techs need access to anything or have questions about the property, I need somebody on-site.”
Aubrey thought of the perfectly made bed. The stack of books on the nightstand. The carefully arranged throw pillows.
Before.
“Alright,” she whispered.
Burke adjusted his hat, then paused.
“There’s one more thing,” he said. “Until my people finish a first pass, I don’t want you talking to the staff about ‘murder’ or ‘homicide’ or what the Medical Examiner found. No theories. No porch stories. No pointing fingers at anybody. Let my deputies take their statements clean.”
“You want me to lie to them?” Aubrey asked.
“I want you to tell them we got new information and the sheriff’s office is following up,” Burke said. “And that’s it.” His eyes met hers. “The less they hear from you before I talk to them, the better chance I have at getting what they actually remember.”
Bennett gave a short nod.
“We can handle that,” he said.
Burke studied him for a beat, then Aubrey.
“Alright,” he said. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I have a time on CSI.”
He turned toward the door, then stopped and looked back at Aubrey.
“And, Aubrey?”
She forced herself to meet his gaze.
“Don’t try to manage this,” he said, softer now. “This isn’t a quarterly report you can spin. Let us do our jobs.”
Her fingers tightened on the edge of the desk.
“I don’t know how to do nothing,” she said.
“Then start by locking the doors,” Burke replied. “I’ll call you soon.”
He stepped out into the hall. A moment later, the quiet click of the outer door carried back through the glass.
The office fell impossibly quiet.
Aubrey stood there, listening to the hum of the HVAC and the faint rustle of the vineyards outside. The spreadsheets open on her laptop glowed on the desk—2023 casing margins and cork discrepancies and Tree of Life projections—like they belonged to someone else’s life.
Bennett moved first.
He crossed to the desk, closed her laptop with a gentle click, and set her reading glasses on top of it.
“Those can wait,” he said.
Aubrey swallowed.
“What exactly are we supposed to do until he calls?” she asked.
“Eat something,” Bennett said. “Breathe. Pretend to be normal for the staff so they don’t panic before Burke even gets here.”
“Pretend to be normal,” she repeated.
He studied her for a long beat.
“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.
She glanced down. Her hands had a fine tremor.
“I’ll be fine,” she said.
He didn’t argue. He reached for the Tree of Life binder and set it aside.
“I’ll go run the cellar crew and let Savannah know Burke may want people later,” he said. “You go back to the house. Lock up. Stay with Moose. I’ll meet you there once I’ve wrapped things here.”
Aubrey opened her mouth to protest—to say she didn't need a handler, that she could manage all of this on her own—but the words dissolved on her tongue.
Somewhere out there, the person who had killed Mabel was still free.
She nodded once.
"Alright," she said. "I'll... I'll head back."
Bennett stepped aside to let her pass.
She brushed by him without thinking.
Two days ago, she would've gone out of her way to avoid the contact.
She kept walking.
"Lock the door behind you," he said.