A Deadly Vineyard Holiday by Philip R. Craig Read Free Book Online Page A

as such.
    The third possibility was that the car contained a writer, or a photographer, or some such real or would-be media type who had gotten on to the fact that Debby J. was or might be staying at our place. If that story ever got out, Debby’s privacy would disappear, along with the security that went with it.
    And finally, the notion I liked least, it could be that the car might have contained one of the bad guys I’d heard mentioned, who, like the hypothetical media type, had learned, somehow, that Debby was with us.
    In case either of the last two possibilities proved true, Pomerlieu’s people should be alerted.
    I offered these thoughts to Zee, who nodded, frowning. “You’re right. We should call Walt Pomerlieu. But how could anyone have learned that Cricket—”
    â€œDebby.”
    â€œSorry. How could anyone know that Debby is here, and not out at the compound with her folks?”
    I said, “I’m not a spook or a spy or anything like that, but I imagine there are several ways. I can think of a couple.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œWell, they say that there’s a place at the end of the president’s driveway for media types. A tent or a portable office or something like that. Maybe one of those sharp-eyed characters stationed there writes down the license plate numbers of all the cars that go in or out, then puts tracers on them to find out who they belong to. Or maybe he sees Karen and Cricket—I mean Debby—drive out and just follows them. Maybe it’s as simple as that. He sees them drive into our place and decides to check things out by parking outside and keeping track of who comes and goes.”
    â€œDo people really do things like that?”
    â€œSo I understand. There’s big money in scoops about celebrities. And there’s another possibility.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œSomebody on the inside, who knows Debby is here, told somebody on the outside.”
    â€œWho would do that? Isn’t that a violation of ethics, or illegal, or something?”
    â€œPeople do unethical and illegal things all the time.”
    â€œBut you’re saying that somebody right there in the compound, somebody they trust, might deliberatelygive out information that could put Cricket—sorry, Debby —in danger!” She then thought the next thought. “And Karen and us, too!”
    â€œI never said the person did it deliberately. Maybe, if he did it at all, it was just one of those mistakes we make with our mouths. We let something slip accidentally, and the slip gets passed on till it gets to the very ears we don’t want to hear it.”
    Zee pointed to the telephone. “Slip or no slip, you’d better call Walt Pomerlieu right now.” She bit her lip. “I wish the girls were home.”
    â€œThe girls are all right, unless there really is somebody after Debby, and that somebody not only noticed that Debby and Karen were in John Skye’s Jeep when it left here, but just happened to have an ORV and followed them clear out to East Beach. Pretty unlikely, I think.” But I wished they were home, too. I curled my fingers around the back of Zee’s neck and ran them through her hair. “We’re getting parental.”
    â€œYeah. And we aren’t even parents yet.” She put her hand on mine and sighed. She had been getting broody even before we were married, and the condition hadn’t gone away. She patted my hand. “Make that call.”
    Pomerlieu wasn’t there. Even he was off duty sometimes, apparently. I got Joan Lonergan instead. I told her about the car, and said, “That wouldn’t have been one of yours, would it? Because if you’ve got somebody else out there keeping an eye on things, I’d like to know about it.”
    â€œIt’s not one of us,” she said, thinly disguised concern in her voice. “Let me talk with Karen.”
    I told her where