A Slip Into Stars

It was only as she noticed the wet tickling of the grass against her feet that she remembered what her father said of the stars under which she walked: "Look at 'em," his gruff voice echoed in her head, "They're like diamonds up there... like snowflakes. All unique, but so small that they look the same from here." Her snarky response had been to point out which stars weren't the same - ones which flashed, sometimes streaked across the canvas that was the sky, and those which seemed reddish. Rather than correct her misconceptions, her father simply smiled and tousled her hair. Her gaze was fixed on them now, and in the wine country of California, far from city lights, she saw countless stars, though now they seemed like sardonic cartoons of her father's vision - the ground to which she was tethered, flaunting their own height. She scowled and picked a grape at random in the dark, crushing it in her hand and hoping the derision would be crushed along with it, but when she looked back at the stars, they were as mocking as ever.

"Hey," said a deep, quiet voice behind her, "what's going on?"

She turned slowly. "How'd you find me?" She saw only the large features of the man standing near her, those being the large, hooking nose and heavy eyebrows which sat on deliberate ridges. The starlight did little to illuminate him, as he was shadowed by the vines on either side of him, as was she.

"It wasn't easy," he said, "I've been out here for almost two hours now..."

She thought that she should apologize, but her nature was antithetical to admitting wrong, so she said with a clenched jaw, "I know the way back."

Even in the dark, she saw her companion shake his head. "It's not about being lost... Amy, it's the middle of the night. Come back inside, please." His soft tone did little to hide his exasperation at being called out of the house this late.

She smiled cynically, though of course he didn't see it. She turned back around and said, "I don't want to... not yet." She began to walk away deliberately. She pictured him grabbing at his hair in frustration, and smiled again. There were some heavy footsteps behind her, and suddenly a cold hand grabbed her elbow strongly and pulled her about. Even though she was now sharing the same breath as him, she still couldn't make out the details of his face, though she knew them so well by now that all she had to do was picture his features contorted in a tired ire, and it filled itself in for her.

"Amy... this is ridiculous, you can't stay out here it's-"

"What is it?" she interjected testily, "It's not cold, it's not too hot either. No wolves around here..."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "It's not about that... you know you shouldn't be out here alone like this."

"C'mon Jer, it's been months since-"

"Don't talk about it!" He said fiercely, "You never know when they could be listening!"

She laughed despite herself, and Jer's grip on her arm tightened accordingly. "Really? Out here in the middle of the vineyard, that's where you think they've got their ears pointed? On some goddamn grapes?"

"Amy, you never know," he pulled her even closed and whispered in her ear, "I found one in the bathroom the other day, a bug, even though they said they weren't going to be putting any in there... now I just don't know..."

"Jer, dad's been dead for five months," she said candidly, earning a hard squeeze and sudden release of her arm, "they're not listening in on us anymore.Those bugs probably ran out of juice a long time ago, and even if they didn't, they're gonna be back at the house, not in the fields."

She heard him take a deep breath, and saw his two hands go up and cover his face. When he spoke, his voice was harsh and commanding. "Amy, don't kid around, okay? It's past midnight, and I've got an early morning tomorrow-"

"So go then!" She yelled abruptly.

"Jesus Christ, Amy," he grabbed her hard above her elbow, "Shut up!"

"Why?" She kept her voice loud, though they were so deep in the vines that there wasn't a soul around for over a mile to hear them. "Before you got here, I was just walking peacefully, being all quiet, just the way you like me, and then you-"

"I never said that I want you quiet, Amy."

"Oh yeah? Then what's all that in the house when you go, 'Amy, shut up', or 'Amy, don't say that here'?" She suddenly wished the stars were brighter so she could see the pained look on his face.

"You know why I say that!"

"Do I?"

"Yes! Jesus Amy, I'm your brother, I'm not... I never want to see you-"

She felt it was a good time to change course, but decided on one more verbal thrust, to which she fully expected a parry. "I wasn't even talking before you got here. Can't I just walk by myself sometimes?"

"You really weren't talking before?" He asked with a tone which paired well with an arched eyebrow, which Amy did not see.

She swallowed, understanding her mistake a moment too late. "No, I wasn't."

"I heard a voice out here," said her brother, clearly unwilling to make the killing blow.

"Then you're hearing things."

"Don't give me that, Amy. You told me, and dad for that matter, that you'd gotten that... problem... sorted out years ago!" His head swiveled as though he were looking for someone to pop out from the next row of grapes.

"I did!" She realized that this was a battle she wasn't going to win, and quickly added, "C'mon Jer, let's go inside... My feet are getting tired anyway." She kept her voice mellow, and willfully removed any hint of the pleading hope she felt within her.

Jer clearly did not want to fight this late in the evening. He loosened his grip on her arm and spoke softly once more, "Alright, let's go. You really weren't talking-" He stopped his sentence short, but concern flowed through every syllable.

She would not yield to his tone, so she decided to end the parlay with an act of love, which she knew in his tired mind would register as genuine. "Jer... you're a good brother. You really are." She felt no change in him from that, so she added, "I love you. I wouldn't lie..."

"Wouldn't you?" He said quietly and away from her, so all she heard was a murmur lost to the chilled night breeze.

***

If he was being honest with himself, there was no case left. Staring down at the pictures of all the suspects and major evidence he found nothing to even incite a raise of the eyebrows. He stared with eyes quickly losing focus at the picture of Amelia Boucher, who's jet black hair and delicate features perfectly complemented each other on her pale, slightly freckled face. Her own brown eyes stared back at the detective with a look of pure boredom. Under the name was scribbled, "Amelia 'Amy' Boucher, daughter - SUSPECT", in a script he recognized as his own, hastily done in his excitement when the case had first been opened.

Her brother's picture sat next to hers. A neanderthalic face with no trace of the composure or handsomeness of his father, whom he otherwise greatly resembled. His mop of black hair was unkempt and stuck out at weird angles, and his graying beard was untrimmed and went much too far down his neck. His only redeeming feature were his eyes, which were genial beyond his years. His handwriting was what glared at him here, "Jeremy 'Jer' Boucher, son - SUSPECT". The last word mocked him. Everyone was a suspect in that spacious estate, from the maid to the dozens of workers who picked the grapes in the fields.

He decided to get up and refresh his coffee, knocking over his "Detective Danny Rigazio" name card in the process. He didn't pick it up.

"Evening Danno," said Liz Shornton, an officer who he suspected had a crush on him. "You still working that Boucher case?"

"Yes," he said curtly.

"When are you gonna give that up, for God's sake?" said his fellow detective Chris Longford gruffly, "There's so much else to-"

"Yes, thank you." He moved on to the coffee machine, trying to ignore the flurry of whispers which followed his departure, though a shrill giggle from Liz pierced his ears.

He was well aware that the case had made him a laughing stock at the station, and it wasn't that he didn't care, but every time he tried to put the case of Arthur Boucher out of his mind, he kept flicking back to the story, trying to see if he was missing anything. As he waited for the Keurig to spit out his drink, he thought once more about the facts of the case.

Arthur Boucher, son of Alexandre Boucher, had inherited a successful winemaking company from his father, who had done likewise from his father, whose vineyards were still in France, under the care of Arthur's cousin. Alexandre had immigrated from Loire Valley in the fifties, buying his own grapes in California. While their business had been locally successful under Alexandre's care, Arthur had built it into a wine empire, increasing their fields tenfold, and selling millions of dollars of his wines every year in the United States alone. In the midst of the Boucher's first rise to opulence, Arthur had married a lovely Californian named Mary Greenwood, and she gave him two children, first with Jeremy and a year later with Amelia. However, before Jeremy could reach the age of five, Mary lost a battle to breast cancer.

There were always rumors of struggles within the Boucher family for control over the vineyards, especially as Arthur aged into his sixties and his children rounded out their twenties. Some said Arthur was losing his grip, that sales had been down five years in a row because of a battle with early onset dementia, but others said that his children were power hungry and vicious towards the old man, and that their lack of unity was responsible for the drop in sales. However, this news often circulated at high class wine events, whose propensity for gossip was outstripped only by the residents of small towns.

Then, five months ago, Arthur Boucher was found dead in his bathroom. He had overdosed on Vicodin, which was originally prescribed for his back pain, a result of his years farming grapes. It seemed that there was no case to be solved. A clear cut, though tragic, accidental suicide, but when Danny got to the scene, he found an odd detail. There was a strange lack of people in the house at the time of death. Of the five houseworkers, four had gone away to attend serious family related matters, and the remaining person was extraordinarily sick, almost to the point of hospitalization. She had only come because she couldn't afford to miss work. A camera in the house placed her on the patio at the time Arthur was swallowing pills. To add to the dearth of bodies in the Boucher manor, Jeremy and Amelia were both allegedly in transit to Portland, though they had only each other as alibis.

He wasn't entirely sure what it was that drew him to this case, but he'd convinced a judge to tap the manor, against all odds, and as of yet it hadn't paid off. Fortunately, the judge owed him a few favors, so he still had access to the technology. However, the team around him had dwindled such that now he was the only person on the case. He took a sip of coffee and decided to take one more, perhaps final, stab at questioning the prime suspects, who in his mind were the two with the weakest alibis.

"Where you headed, Danno?" called Liz. He didn't answer her.

***

"Detective Danny," said Amy with great surprise, "Please, come in."

"Thank you." He kept his tone deliberately grave, trying to elicit a reaction from her. He didn't get one.

"Can I get you anything?" She asked as she led him into the luxurious antique living room. "Tea, coffee, some wine? It's definitely late enough for that."

"No, thank you." He remained standing, gazing into the derelict fireplace.

"Alright. Should I call Jeremy? He's looking after some finances, but I'm sure he-"

"Actually, I'd prefer speaking to you alone, Ms. Boucher." He didn't make eye contact with her, but perceived her tighten slightly, even as she stood five feet away.

"Oh, I was going to go check on the fields," said Amy, eyeing the large glass windows which overlooked the families bountiful grapes, "but I could chat for a while, if you want."

He turned rather suddenly and locked onto her brown eyes with his own green and said, "I'd very much like that."

She smiled, which Danny thought looked like the grin of a wax figure at Madame Tussauds. Before he could say anything, she remarked, "I like what you've done with the mustache... and you've been letting your hair grow out too, I see. Looks good. Really fits the salt and pepper, y'know?"

He wasn't caught off guard by this anymore, not after their numerous encounters, but he did subconsciously rub his new facial hair, a desperate attempt to keep black hair somewhere on his head, as the half parted floppy straight stuff on his head was far more salt than pepper these days. He replied, "Thanks. Please, sit."

She sat down elegantly. "So, what's this all about now?"

He didn't answer immediately. He knew that every query had to be absolutely essential if he was to get any real information out of Amy. After a long pause, he said, "Where were you on the afternoon of April 12th, Ms. Boucher?"

She smiled. "Driving up to Portland with my dear brother."

"A long drive..."

"We've been through this before," she said a little testily, "I needed to visit a friend, and he needed to attend a wine tasting with many notable-"

"Yes, I understand, but that's a long drive... almost ten hours, right?"

"I enjoy spending time with my brother... is there anything strange about that?"

"Yet you claim you left rather late in the day... 11:00am, I think-"

"My father had work for us in the house, so we were delayed."

Throughout the salvo of initial questions, Amy's smile had not faltered. Her eyes were glassy and looked at a point behind Danny's head, but she was completely composed. He frowned and turned away from her again, picking up an old book lying on a table. "I see. And you reached your hotel on time?"

"Yes."

"What hotel did you stay in?"

"The Grande."

"Really?" He turned around sharply. "You said in your initial testimony that you stayed at a friend's."

He saw her smile drop. She surreptitiously inserted her hands into the sofa and said with a scowl, "Sorry, must've misspoke."

"Does that happen to you often, recently? Talking like that?"

Her lips thinned. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing... did you stop anywhere on your way to Seattle?"

"Yeah, once for food in Portland-"

"Sorry, I meant Portland - wait, what?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. He barely suppressed a smile. He almost had her. "Did you meet with anyone along the way?"

Something in her face released. "What do you know about that?"

"About what? Did you meet someone? You told me last time..."

Inexplicably, she smiled again. "I see. Those bastards."

Danny felt lost. He looked her in the eye and saw a strange fracturing occurring there, like the layer of glass which separated her from the world was shattered, the veil torn. "What are you talking about?"

If he hadn't been a veteran police officer, he would have died instantly. Amy pulled her hands out of the sofa holding a small pistol, but as she made her first sudden movement, Danny had his own gun ready, and the two fired at the same instant. Perhaps out of sheer luck, Amy's bullet struck Danny in the chest, but Danny's shot hit Amy in the leg, rupturing her femoral artery. Danny fell to the ground hard, but Amy just clutched her leg, noticing the blood there and grimacing.

***

Her leg went numb. She heard noises faintly around the house, but she knew it would be too late for her. She had thought her plan had been perfect. Drive out a few dozen miles, exchange cars with some of the houseworkers who would go on to Portland, and then turn back, avoiding the in house cameras, and find her father passed out on the ground, as the remaining houseworker had flooded the room with carbon monoxide which wouldn't show up in a toxicology report by the time the police got around to it. She would then forcefully make her father swallow several extra Vicodin, which wasn't too hard, while her brother would keep watch around the house and deal with any emails and texts her father received for a couple hours, so none of his nagging friends would get worried.

She dragged herself along the floor, determined for some transcendent reason to get outside. Fortunately, the glass door to the back patio was open. She pulled herself onto the chilled stone, realizing she could no longer feel her lower half. She only got a few feet further when the strength left her arms. She noticed her ragged breathing and managed to flip herself over. She blinked. The stars glittered down at her benignly. She heard a guttural scream of a housekeeper from inside. She smiled. It was snowing white jewels. She heard her father's voice and heeded his call.