Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
Blackwood Estate Winery
Staff Meeting
By the time Aubrey walked into the conference room off the mezzanine, half the Blackwood staff had already claimed their usual seats.
Lockwood leaned against the wall near the windows, arms folded across his chest; Zack Fowler sat sideways in one of the metal chairs, long legs sprawled.
Eli from maintenance and two cellar hands clustered near the far end.
Savannah and Chloe shared the middle stretch of the table, Savannah with her tablet open and stylus in hand, Chloe with a legal pad and three uncapped pens scattered in front of her like ammunition.
Walter Grady sat closest to the head of the table, a thick binder open, reading glasses perched low on his nose. Several field workers filled the remaining chairs. Red Stephens stood near the door, hat in hand.
Bennett stood at the front of the room with one hand braced on the back of an empty chair. He’d traded yesterday’s suit for his usual dark jeans and black T-shirt, but the shadows under his eyes hadn’t gone anywhere.
He glanced up when Aubrey stepped in.
“Come on in,” he said. “Find a spot.”
She slid into the empty chair beside Walter, setting her coffee on the table. Moose lay outside in the hall, his massive body half-blocking the doorway like he’d appointed himself bouncer.
“Everybody here?” Bennett asked.
He didn’t bother with a speech. He took a steadying breath, looked around the table, and said, “CSI’s done. Burke’s people cleared the building this morning. As of ten o’clock, the winery and the Victorian are officially released back to us.”
A low ripple of sound moved through the room—relief, tension, something in between.
“Does that mean we’re… done?” one of the cellar hands asked quietly. “With the investigation, I mean.”
“No,” Bennett said. “It just means they’re done combing through the floors looking for fibers and prints.” His mouth tightened. “Burke’s still treating this as an active homicide. That hasn’t changed.”
The room went still.
Aubrey felt every eye flick toward her and away again. She kept her spine straight, fingers wrapped around her coffee cup, the heat grounding her.
“Look,” Bennett said. “I know the last week’s been hell. You’ve all been trying to run a winery with deputies underfoot and yellow tape on the boss’s house. You’ve done it anyway. I’m proud of you. Mabel would’ve said you were whining too much and told you to get back to work—“
A few strained laughs broke out.
”—but she would’ve been proud too.”
Savannah blinked quickly down at her tablet. Walter nodded once, eyes shining behind his glasses.
“So here’s where we are.” Bennett’s voice sharpened slightly, shifting into command.
“The sheriff’s department has what they need from us for now.
They’ve interviewed most of you at least once, some of you twice.
If Burke or one of his deputies needs to talk to you again, answer them.
Be honest. But outside of that, we go back to doing our jobs.
We harvest on time. We bottle on schedule.
We treat guests like they can’t get this anywhere else. ”
He looked slowly around the table. “We do what Mabel built this place to do.”
Aubrey’s throat tightened.
“So.” He clapped his hands once, the sound sharp in the close room. “Operational updates. Lockwood?”
Lockwood pushed off the wall and came to the front, flipping open his notebook.
“Field’s steady,” he said. “North Ridge took that last storm pretty hard, but we’ve staked the worst of the slope and reinforced the terraces.
Sulfur’s on schedule. Cover crop’s holding.
” He glanced at Aubrey. “We’re on track for the first harvest block to come in three weeks early if this heat holds. ”
“Which block?” Aubrey asked.
“Merlot on the lower east slope.” Lockwood smiled. “What Bennett calls ‘the one that’ll kill me in my sleep if I don’t keep an eye on it.’”
A few chuckles rolled around the table.
“Good,” Bennett said. “Keep at it. I want the lab pulls on that block by Friday.”
“Already queued,” Lockwood said. He stepped back.
“Zack?”
Zack swung his chair forward, elbows resting on the table. “Tank room’s clean. Filters are back online. We’ve got two small leaks on lines seven and nine—Eli’s already on it. New French oak shipment came in yesterday.” He glanced at Walter. “And yes, I signed the packing slip this time.”
Walter sniffed. “Miracles do happen.”
The room eased a little more. Normal complaints. Normal teasing. It felt like oxygen.
“Savannah?” Bennett asked.
“Tasting room’s booked out for the next three weekends,” Savannah said, scrolling her tablet. “We had two cancellations after the homicide hit the news, but they rebooked once Burke made a statement about extra patrols.
Savannah cleared her throat. “Allocations dinner for Mercer and the other distributors went off without a hitch. Everyone wants more Tree of Life than we can give them, as usual. I told them if they wanted to complain about scarce supply they could take it up with the vines.”
“Good,” Bennett said.
Chloe lifted her pen. “And on the PR front, I’ve been fielding emails from bloggers and a couple of regional outlets. Everyone wants to turn us into a true-crime podcast.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m drafting a statement—basic, respectful, nothing salacious. If we say nothing, they make it up.”
“Send it to me before it goes,” Aubrey said.
Chloe nodded. “Will do.”
For a moment, the room hummed with logistics. Shipping schedules. Reorders. A brief, heated debate between Lockwood and Zack about whether to move a bottling date.
Then Red cleared his throat.
The sound cut through the chatter like a blade.
Every head turned.
Red shifted his hat between his hands, the brim creaking. “What about the will?” he asked bluntly. “About the land.”
Silence dropped.
Aubrey’s pulse lurched.
Bennett’s jaw tightened. “Eleanor’s still working through probate,” he said. “Nothing changes for operations day to day until the court signs off.”
“That when the city people come in?” one of the field workers muttered. “Carve it up? Turn it into cabins?”
“No,” Aubrey said.
The word came out steadier than she felt.
Every face turned toward her now.
She stood slowly, palms flat on the table to keep them from shaking.
“I spent yesterday in Eleanor Harper's office and the day before that in Mabel's. I’ve seen the will. I know what she wanted.” She swallowed, forcing her voice not to crack. “Blackwood isn’t getting carved up and sold to the highest bidder. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Red’s eyes narrowed. “And do you?”
Aubrey met his gaze.
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
Silence.
Then Walter pushed his chair back, the legs scraping softly on the floor.
“Well, then,” he said, folding his hands over his binder. His voice was mild, but his eyes were bright. “I’d say that settles that for now.”
Lockwood lifted his brows, clearly impressed.
Savannah’s mouth curved into a small, relieved smile.
Chloe scribbled something on her pad that looked suspiciously like a tagline.
Red studied Aubrey for another long second.
Finally, he gave a short, reluctant nod.
“Long as those cows stay on the pasture side of the road and you don’t put a yoga retreat on my north fence,” he muttered, “I’ll keep fixing the fences.”
A few laughs broke out.
“Good,” Bennett said. “Because nobody else can figure out that damn north fence.”
For a few more minutes, they talked like a team again instead of a town under siege. About vines and valves and tourists who didn’t know how to park on gravel.
When the meeting finally broke, chairs scraped, and conversations picked up in smaller knots. Zack and Lockwood drifted toward the stairs, still arguing amiably. Savannah and Chloe slipped out together in a hum of schedules and sarcasm. Eli and the cellar techs followed.
Walter lingered long enough to close his binder with a soft thud and give Aubrey’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.
“You did all right, child,” he murmured.
Then it was just her and Bennett.
He stood at the far end of the table, fingers resting on the back of a chair, watching her.
“That was a good answer,” he said.
Aubrey let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I was hoping it was the right one.”
His gaze softened. The hard lines of his face eased.
“It was,” he said. “For Blackwood.” A beat. “And for you.”
Something in her chest loosened at that.
Before she could decide what to do with it, a knuckle rapped once against the open glass door.
Aubrey turned.
Declan O’Rourke lounged in the doorway like he’d been born in it—dark suit, tie loosened, that familiar, slightly rumpled competence wrapped in an Irish lilt. He took in the emptying room with one quick sweep of sharp blue eyes, then tipped his chin at Bennett in greeting.
“McCrae,” he said.
“Deck.” Bennett straightened, brows flicking up. “You need something?”
“Aye.” Declan’s attention shifted fully to Aubrey. The easy humor faded when he really looked at her. “Eleanor asked me to swing by,” he said. “Figured you might want to hear this from me before the rumor mill gets hold of it.”
Aubrey’s pulse ticked up. “What is it?”
Declan stepped into the room, letting the door mostly shut behind him. Moose, who’d been dozing outside, thumped his tail once and resettled with a huff.
“Your mother just booked herself a flight to Asheville,” he said quietly.
The words landed like a physical blow.
Aubrey’s fingers tightened on the edge of the chair.
“Anne?” she asked, though she already knew.
“Aye.” Declan’s voice stayed soft. “She’ll be on the ground by tomorrow afternoon, far as I can tell.”
The conference room, so full and noisy a few minutes ago, suddenly felt small.
Behind her, through the glass wall, the vineyard rolled down the hill in green lines. The Victorian’s white columns caught the light across the way.
A moment ago, she’d been thinking about Blackwood.
Now she was thinking about the woman coming back to claim it.