Free Lethal Vintage by Nadia Gordon

that they considered prestigious. They drank it for the idea of relaxation, indulgence,pleasure, luxury, superiority, heritage. She poured a splash of the red wine into her coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, hugging the mug with both hands.
    Spotlight consciousness, thought Sunny. The hangover was limiting her ability to see the big picture. She could see the elephant’s trunk but not the elephant, and certainly not the field the elephant was standing in. The entire morning seemed unreal, like she was watching someone else’s life. Had she really seen her boyfriend in the arms of another woman? Were the police really here, setting up camp as though they planned to stay? Was she really thinking about wine and intellectual property in the global marketplace when she should be wondering what the hell was going on? And where was everyone else, most notably Anna and Oliver? Were they hiding in a bedroom while the police swarmed the house?
    Sergeant Harvey sat down across from her, his already impressive physical presence augmented by his uniform and the creaking belt and holster strapped around his waist. His crew cut was groomed to honor-guard perfection as usual.
    “Sunny, you’re the last person I expected to see this morning,” he said. “What brings you here?”
    “I could ask you the same thing, Steve,” she said, and took a sip of coffee.
    His expression turned serious and he shook his head. “I’m not making conversation. I need an answer.”
    She put the cup down. “A friend I hadn’t seen for years called me yesterday and said she was in town staying at her boyfriend’s weekend house and I should come over for lunch.” She gestured to the surroundings. “I came over, lunch turned into dinner and cocktails, and I ended up spending the night. They have plenty of room.”
    “Your friend’s name?”
    “Anna Wilson.”
    He nodded. “Sunny, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you about your friend. This morning at seven twenty-five, nine-one-one got a call from a guy named Mike Sayudo. Mr. Sayudo is employed by Oliver Seth in the capacity of landscape gardener and outdoor maintenance man. He said he came out early this morning to make sure the drip system was functioning. Apparently it’s been a problem and he’s been keeping an eye on it.”
    “The drip system.”
    “That’s right.” Sergeant Harvey glanced out the window. “I guess I don’t know exactly how to tell you this except to come right out with it.” He looked back at Sunny. “This morning Mr. Sayudo found your friend. Oliver Seth identified her body a few minutes ago.”
    “Her body?”
    “She died sometime early this morning.”
    “She overdosed,” said Sunny softly.
    “What makes you say that?”
    “Nothing specific. Just, you know…”
    “She was doing drugs.”
    “I don’t know for sure. It seemed like it. Or maybe just drinking too much. I don’t know.”
    Sunny stared into her coffee. It was hard to feel anything. The whole morning, the whole day yesterday, felt like a strange dream. “If she didn’t overdose, how did she die?”
    “It looked like she fell out of one of the second-story windows onto the patio. The hill slopes away, so it was a pretty good drop. Fifteen feet or so.”
    Over time, Sunny had come to know Sergeant Steve Harvey pretty well. He prided himself on accuracy and chose his words with care. “What do you mean, ‘looked like’?” she said.
    He hesitated, glancing around the room. One of his lieutenants was lingering in the hallway off the kitchen. They could see him through the floor-to-ceiling glass. No one else was around.
    “Sunny, we’ve known each other quite a while. We have a certain rapport, wouldn’t you say?”
    “Definitely.”
    They’d worked together, in a manner of speaking, on three murder investigations in the valley. Thanks to some unusual associations, a little too keen a nose, and a tendency to roam around at night, Sunny had landed in the middle of three