Page 50 of Murder in the Lighthouse

Brogan laughed as she went to the cabinet and took out two large travel mugs with lids and a large Thermos. “We’re staying here because you two are the experts in the field. Besides, it will allow us time to research the property and hand off any updates we find while you’re there. That land must have a history, anomalies in the ground, and so forth, along with all kinds of nooks and crannies that outsiders wouldn’t know anything about. I want to know every inch of that place before you go there. Google Earth is one way to do that.”

Lucien leaned against the counter. “Like a cellar or a basement. That’s good thinking. And if we find anything suspicious, we’ll flag the spot so when Theo and the others arrive in the morning, they can focus their search on those areas first.”

“Besides, I need to call my grandmother and apologize. She’s three hours ahead. I want to call before it gets too late in Connecticut.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Lucien muttered, grabbing the coffee beans from the pantry. “I don’t want to be around when Cordelia is in gloat mode.”

“She’ll revel in that for a while before she realizes her daughter lied to her,” Brogan replied, taking the bag of beans out of Lucien’s hand. She measured enough for the mugs and the Thermos, then poured some of the freshly ground coffee beans into the machine for the first cycle. “I’m brewing enough coffee for the mugs. You can use the Thermos for refills. It should be enough to get you through the night.”

“How can you be so calm about calling your grandmother?” Jade asked. “What if she disinherits you?”

“If she does, so what? I’ll get bounced from a job I never wanted in the first place. And I’ll take that risk because I deserve to know the truth. When Cordelia settles down, she’ll realize she wants the same thing, too. Right now, we should worry about these two trespassing on winery property without getting shot.”

“She’s right about that,” Jade remarked, turning to Birk. She grabbed him by the shirt. “Don’t go getting shot just as we’re planning to move in together. That would ruin everything. Got it?”

Birk frowned. “I don’t like the idea of getting shot. If we do this right, they’ll never know we were there. I’m a former Navy SEAL trained in recon. I don’t intend to get caught. And if I do, I’m packing my Sig Sauer.”

Brogan bobbed her head toward Birk. “I’m counting on you to keep Lucien out of trouble. That means making sure he doesn’t need a weapon.”

“For God’s sake, I may not be a Navy SEAL, but I’m not a novice at this,” Lucien protested. “If Birk takes his, I’m taking mine. I don’t need a babysitter to keep me out of trouble. You send us everything you learn about the property, and I promise we’ll use it to our advantage.”

She heaved out a sigh, hoping to soothe the male ego. “I’m certain you can handle yourself. But after seeing the brothers up close, I worry. Sue me. Okay? We are talking about former cops who know every trick in the book. Should I remind you that we suspect these guys of killing defenseless menandwomen? I’d feel better if we take a deep breath and formulate a plan.”

“A plan sounds good to me,” Jade reiterated. “Let’s all sit down, do a little research, and get on the same page.”

After a thorough discussion and planning session, they devised a solid strategy. Lucien and Birk would head to the vineyard equipped with their expertise and the information Brogan had compiled. The goal was clear: to search for any signs of buried bodies or areas that looked suspicious, marking them for further investigation by Trish and Theo.

If all went as planned, they would be home before sunrise

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16

They had a plan and stuck to it. Based on what Brogan had discovered online about the property’s earliest owners, they already had a rough idea of where to look. Before all the recent additions Ken Shepherd had made, the estate had belonged to one family, Martinez Serrano, who planted his first Mission grapes cultivated in Spain two years before California’s statehood. Since then, the land had been split and re-split into sections as children grew into adults and stayed around to work the land. It had taken them years of using the fertile, loamy soil to improve theblack, burgundy grapes in hopes of producing the best Bordeaux-style wine. Their dream eventually came true in 1889 after winning a gold medal at the World’s Fair in Paris.

It showed how dedicated the Serrano family was to winemaking. Five generations grew grapes and bottled wine. At the turn of the century, around 1900, they needed an inventiveway to store it. They began constructing a massive wine cellar, tunneling their way underground into the side of a hill. It was the ideal place to store their product in optimal conditions. There was low humidity, almost total darkness, and a consistent temperature between fifty-four and fifty-seven degrees with very little vibration except for the occasional earthquake.

While researching the property, Brogan discovered the exact location. She even found photographs taken inside the “vault” during the early stages of excavation. And when prohibition affected all alcohol sales, including wine, their wine cellar became a hidden gem. From 1920 to 1933, the wine industry faltered and all but died. To stay alive, many vineyards kept growing grapes to ship to markets. Across the state, Serrano’s grapes became a welcome commodity in grocery stores. But it didn’t mean they stopped making wine. Bootlegging or rum-running became the easiest way to get their product to the customer. Each night, family members drew straws to see which one would venture out to make the deliveries, bringing wine right to the doors of the speakeasies and restaurants along the coast. Despite the illegal smuggling operation, many wineries closed their doors.

Serrano’s Winery kept going.

A hundred years later, the family eventually ran out of heirs, leaving an opening for Ken Shepherd to become a vintner and switching the name to the trendier Noir Hills Estates label.

The wine vault was still on their mind when Birk and Lucien parked themselves high above the estate, overlooking the grounds for the best vantage point. They waited until just after midnight, when all the lights were turned off in every building on the property, before making their move.

A stingy quarter moon hung high in the sky as the two men dressed in black blended into the shadows, moving through the rows of grapevines, their footsteps muffled by the soft earthbeneath them. The only sounds were the gentle leaves rustling in the cool night breeze and the distant hoot of an owl.

Venturing deeper into the heart of the vineyard, they needed to check out four distinct locations, places that Brogan had pinpointed as potential sites. Lucien’s heart pounded as Birk signaled to change direction and veer away from the main house.

Their first stop was a workman’s shed used to store tools and supplies. Birk motioned for Lucien to stay back while he crept forward, his senses on alert. Pressing his back against the wall, he strained his ears for any sign of movement inside. After a tense silence, he pushed open the creaking door and slipped into the interior, his eyes scanning wall to wall before adjusting to the low light. Tools lined the walls, and sacks of soil were stacked in one corner. But what caught his attention was a large tarp draped over an object in the center of the room.

He reached out and pulled back the canvas, revealing a dusty old wine barrel. It looked out of place among the gardening supplies until he realized they were using it to store food-grade glycol for the heating systems they used in the fields.

Lucien appeared in the doorway, signaling he’d found nothing buried around the shed. Birk nodded in agreement, indicating there were no bodies inside.

They hurried on, their eyes scanning the land for any signs of disturbed earth, raised mounds of dirt, or any other signs of a recent burial.

Their second stop was the Serrano family cemetery, a small plot of land surrounded by a wrought iron fence among a swath of tall trees, their gnarled branches gesturing toward heaven. Lucien paused to note the cracked headstones, some leaning, some covered in moss, and the broken crosses blackened with age. The beam of their flashlights revealed the earliest death was an infant who died in 1848, while the last death occurred on April 3, 2011, and belonged to a ninety-year-old man who hadnever married but had the distinction of being the last Serrano descendant. No grave had been disturbed. No freshly turned soil anywhere. Lucien had no doubt this Serrano graveyard had been the family’s final resting place for a hundred and sixty-two years without disruption.

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