Mystery in Pink: Adventures in the Wine Country #1:

By Diana Stone

Join Jessica on a trip to the California wine country where you’ll find flavor and high adventure in this multi-book journey. You’ll taste the delights – and experience the dangers from the comfort of your home. Enjoy good wine, pretty horses, and a few interesting men. The crooks never win when they tangle with her. Not much gore, but rest assured, they perish.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diana Stone
• Release date: Jun 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463696736

Diana Stone

Diana Stone writes about adventures that have happened, that may happen; and that will probably never happen. You will find her in the Santa Ynez, California wine country at least once a month, researching for her next fast-paced mystery.Aside from writing, Diana Stone’s other passion is her horse riding. When she was in the sixth grade, she scrimped and saved enough money to buy her first horse for $415. Six years later, after being bucked off one too many times, Diana had saved enough to upgrade. This time she bought a horse who was happy to ride with her.Diana is a former police officer with the Los Angeles Police Department. Though no longer with the Department, it continues to find its way into her thoughts and writing.Bunny and Juliette are her two horses that also find their way into her writing. The three live in Ventura, California.

Book preview

1

I’ve Been Replaced

With the slam of the door I know—my husband is leaving me for another woman. In the silence, I hear my heart beating, erratic with outrage. I want to swear at him and claw at his face. But I can’t, I’m standing here alone, discarded in his excitement to find someone new.

I feel like a failure. I know that sounds dramatic, but my four-year marriage has just ended. He left me for a younger, cuter version of someone I used to be. She likes sushi, and I don’t. She drives a cute little hybrid, and I drive a diesel pickup truck. And probably the thing he loves best is that she idolizes him, but unfortunately I stopped doing that years ago.

What should I do with my newly found freedom? I feel like I’ve been set adrift in the fog. I’m looking for something that makes me enthusiastic about living, something to change my outlook.

At age 31, I’m planning some big changes. I want my failed marriage to fade to a small blip in my life.

Before I wore his ring, I used to search buildings for armed criminals. I stopped escaping felons, chasing bad guys over walls and through backyards with snarling dogs. I did so with only a torn uniform to show for it. I maintained my calm during high-speed car chases while sliding through dark, rain-slicked streets. I know how to keep my composure in dangerous situations. Surely I can find a job that pays a good salary and I enjoy.

After several months of searching, I found something that sounds like a possibility. Mom suggested I speak with Veronica, a woman she knows who leads trail rides through the Santa Ynez Valley wine country. She heard they’re looking for a head wrangler.

I haven’t been to Solvang for years. The only thing I remember is that it’s a cute Danish town with good pastries and restaurants. I’ve never tasted wine there, but then, I’ve missed out on a lot of things.

I’ve been out of the loop for so long. I hadn’t heard that the nearby towns have blossomed. Each one has its own ambiance, complemented by wineries and boutiques.

Los Olivos is one of those delightful towns. It sits about an hour up the coast from my house in Ventura. It’s an area people visit to immerse themselves in everything to do with wine. They stop for a sip in a trendy tasting room, dine with vintners, picnic at a winery, or ride horses through the vineyards. It’s a cute place that has its own friendly vibe and provides an escape from everyday life.

I’m sitting with my laptop, scrolling through the visitor's bureau website and events calendars. I feel a spark in my soul, a fire I forgot I had. Rolling hills dotted with oak trees, rows of grapevines heavy with grapes, and smiling ladies on pretty horses... I’m starting to dream again and to see possibilities for my future.

I can’t wait to see if this is the answer I’ve been searching for. I tap Veronica’s number into my phone and thank goodness she answers.

I may be lacking interviewing skills, but not enthusiasm. To bypass that, I launch into details about my lifelong experience with horses. I’ve been trail riding since I was a kid, I’ve also been breeding, training and competing in dressage for years. I know horses inside and out, with an intuition honed over time. Not that it’s necessary for this job, but I did five years on patrol with the LAPD.

She tells me what being a wrangler entails: Getting up early to feed and care for thirteen hungry horses. Then I’d be leading group trail rides through the vineyards overlooking miles of the Santa Ynez Valley. Afterward, I’d host a wine tasting back at the barn. I’d be doing this twice a day. It’s simple, there isn’t much to it; I have more than enough ability to ride a trail horse and I can easily chat with the riders. It sounds like a cushy job, and one I’d love to have.

We talk for a couple of hours, laughing and comparing notes on life, men, and horses. I think her daily routine of riding through the hills and vineyards, and the friends she’s made, sounds perfect. This should bring vivid color into my dull, black and white life.

Yes, I’d love to drive up the coast for a two-week trial.

***

The day is bright, and my adrenaline is flowing. I’ve hitched up my truck and trailer and I’m ready to go. I’m bringing my two dressage horses, Bunny and Juliette, to see how they feel about a new career as trail horses. It will be a big change for them to go from doing dance steps in a sandy, manicured riding arena, to hiking up hills on dusty, hard ground.

They both have the same sire, a Hanoverian stallion who was on the long list for the Olympics. But just because they come from show horse bloodlines, and are tall and pretty, doesn’t mean they can’t change careers.

Bye. I wave to the stable manager as I pull out the driveway toward adventure.

Driving up Highway 101 is always slow through Santa Barbara. But at last we hit the open road.

My eyes are drawn to the ocean. It’s another beautiful California day at the beach. The waves are breaking on the shore and the sky is a cloudless blue. A long line of RVs are parked by the sand. Their striped awnings are up and their BBQs are smoking. Families have spread out their towels and are soaking up the sun. Surfers are sitting on their boards waiting for the perfect wave.

About fifty miles later, a giant yellow arrow points to my exit. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.

Entering Solvang is like gliding into a Danish town. The streets are full of tourists wandering into restaurants, bakeries, and art galleries. Little wooden signs with Danish names swing above cheese and novelty shops. Along the way daisies and geraniums spill out of huge flower pots. The sidewalks are shaded by leafy sycamore trees.

On the right is the Mission Santa Ynez. It’s a piece of history that overlooks miles of rolling hills. A wide banner stretches between two mighty trees, an invitation to the upcoming vintner’s festival. In two weeks, the lawn will be crowded with happy people making their way from tent to tent carrying a wine glass in one hand and a plate of appetizers in the other.

I pass through town and make a right turn on Baseline and ease my foot off the gas and roll down the window to let in the ambiance. The horse farms on the left have acres of green pastures. Mares are standing knee-deep in lush grass while their foals play tag. On the right, there are row after row of grape vines growing in perfect alignment. This is amazing!

At the next left, just up from the corner, there’s a yellow sign. This is Horse Country, Slow Down.

I already feel my chilled spirit beginning to thaw. That was fast, I’m only eighty miles from home!

***

Veronica strides from the barn with a radiant smile. She looks just like her picture: Early 40s, slim, shoulder length dark hair, and a beautiful smile. She’s wearing jeans, a western shirt, and has dusty cowboy boots—just like I imagined.

As I slide out of the truck, she gives a quick hug, Hi Jessica, welcome to your destiny!

My destiny, I like how that sounds. Thank you, what a nice welcome!

How was the drive—I’ll show you around. Wait, let’s get the horses out of the trailer. Are you thirsty? She laughs at herself. Don’t worry, I can do three things at once.

I’m happy to be here, thank you. I swallow my emotion. You have no idea how this is helping.

I’m glad. You’re a nice girl, let’s get you back on track, she soothes. What do you want to do first?

I’d like to get the horses settled. Can we put them in the round-pen to walk around? I swing the trailer ramp down and they start pawing in anticipation. I get them unloaded, then lead an excited horse in each hand.

She directs the way to several large pastures, which in California are dirt because it doesn’t rain. I need to put Bunny in one, and Juliette in another. They used to live in the same pasture when Bunny had been the boss. A few months ago, Juliette tried to take over that position, but Bunny fought back. They both emerged beaten up, but miraculously undamaged. Now I keep them separate. I give each one a pat and begin my tour.

I follow her through the double-wide doors into whitewashed barn. It is open and airy with an expanded center aisle. A heavy trestle table sits to the side and catches the breeze. Someone added a mason jar filled with roses.

I love the roses, it adds an elegant touch. I catch the fragrance.

This is where we have the wine tasting. I think it makes it look friendly. She points through the tasting bar area to a quasi-kitchen, behind. There’s a microwave and coffee pot you can use in there.

Thanks. I brought a blender, I’ll be drinking protein shakes most of the time. I notice the electric outlet. I have enough whey powder to last for weeks. I also brought soup, bread, and peanut butter. Soon I’ll be really sick of my food.

The tack area smells wonderful, like rich leather. I inhale the scent and look around, taking in years of work. She has racks holding perhaps fifteen western saddles. Some have deep suede seats and others are smooth leather. One is engraved Champion Header 2008.

Who won the saddle?

I did, when I had time, I really should get back into it. They give good awards, like saddles, silver buckles, horse trailers, and pots of money.

Those are great prizes, I mutter with envy. Dressage shows sometimes give the winner a coffee mug.

I follow her down the aisle of stalls to the right and she says, We forgot to talk about your sleeping arrangements. You can have this room. I put a cot in here for you. Then she points to another door. See, it’s across from the bathroom.

I look for the lock, but there’s only a padlock on the outside. I can’t lock the door from the inside. I feel awkward telling her. Tonight I’ll use the dressing room in my trailer and see how I feel after that.

She looks at me and laughs, It’s safe around here. Your trailer is pretty small, but suit yourself.

We have ten riders booked for the 3:00 slot, you can get your feet wet with them. They usually like their pictures taken. I either use their phone, or I take them with mine and text it to them. She strikes a selfie pose. They take a lot of selfies too. They rarely care about geology and plants, so you won’t need to worry about that. Just be friendly and follow my lead.

Fine, what time shall I be ready to saddle up? That’s a lot of horses to groom and saddles to lift.

We should get it done in 30 minutes, I’ll show you the shortcuts. I have paperwork at the house, are you alright kicking around here till then? She acknowledges my nod. You can park your trailer next to the others. She directs her arm in the general direction of the other horse trailers. I’ll be back in a while. She heads up to the house at the top of the dirt driveway.

We get the twelve horses saddled reasonably fast. Fortunately, their summer coats are sleek and clean. I hadn’t thought about it before, but the weight of a western saddle will put more muscles on me. I’m not used to swinging forty pounds onto a horse’s back.

Two tiny cars jammed with women pull to a stop outside the barn. Walking over to say hi, I stop in amazement. In each car, five girls are trying to untangle themselves from a space built for two. We’re all laughing a few minutes later. I feel that I’m part of the fun, and that’s unusual for me.

Veronica comes up as we’re getting acquainted. She and I both notice their idea of appropriate riding boots. Their stiletto heels with thin, supple leather make me wince. Will the lovely boots make it out in one piece?

It’s fun to hear their stories and gossip, who did what to whom, and their ideas on cheating and divorce. I’m keeping my ears open and my mouth closed. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around this many happy women. The two-hour ride is filled with good-hearted laughter and murmurs of needing a masseuse.

For the wine tasting, Veronica has relationships with local wineries who sell her their wines at a reduced price. It’s a great way to taste the flavors of the area. The women sip their way through several bottles, along with crunchy artisan crackers from a little market up the road. These crackers aren’t boring saltines.

How do I know the crackers are so good and the wine reflects the terroir of the area? I need to know what we’re serving so, I get to have my own mini tasting in the cool of the evening. I’m such a good employee, studying on my time off. I love the perks that come with this job!

The sun goes down, followed by a dark, moonless night. An owl hoots in a nearby tree and her friend on the barn roof answers. I chuckle at the scraping sound of owl claws on the steel. It tells me he’s having a hard time gripping the metal with his talons.

I learned a long time ago to watch the rabbits and horses when I’m alone in the dark. If they look at something, then I look. It’s safe tonight, all the horses have their heads down munching on hay, and the rabbits are quietly hopping around. I’m on guard because it’s all new and I don’t know what is normal.

I feel like a goldfish in a bowl, sitting in the barn aisle with the lights on. But I wouldn’t really say I’m alone. I have a friend, Mr. Smith and Wesson. It might seem neurotic to have a gun in my jacket, but it keeps me secure. I saw too many victims when I worked patrol.

I switch off the light. Goodness, it’s darker than I realized. There’s a slice of moon to light my way to the trailer. It’s small inside, but there’s a lock on the door.

2

The Adventure begins

Let’s say you’re staying at a friend’s place one night and you hear a noise. You figure it’s a normal sound a building makes after a hot day. Then you hear whispering, and you know that isn’t right, especially since you’re supposed to be the only person on the ranch.

I’m lying on a cot in my dressing room, reading an adventure story on my iPad. Mark and Veronica left for dinner an hour ago. They haven’t had time to eat and return, so I doubt they’re the ones in the barn. I’m armed and trained to identify what I’m shooting at before I take the first shot. Still, it’s a good idea to warn me before paying a friendly visit in the dark.

Two horses whinny from the pasture; they’re restless, and that concerns me.

I click the story off, roll to my feet, and look out the window. Listening for several minutes, I figure out where they are, and what they’re up to. From the sounds, I can tell they’re moving saddles from the barn to a vehicle at the front. They have to make a lot of trips because we have thirteen of them. I don’t know how many are left, but a flashlight beam is flashing around while someone carries a saddle. I can hear the thud of it landing in the bed of a pickup. They’re getting noisier since no one has come to stop them. They must think they’re alone out here.

I’m a slender woman, at the end of a half-mile driveway, in the middle of hundreds of acres of vineyards. There’s no way I’m going to confront at least two thieves. I tap in the sheriff’s number and reach an officer. I don’t have any description of the suspects or the pickup truck. It’s frustrating, but I don’t have any more information. The responding deputies have a ten minute ETA. Darn it, that’s a long time.

I have to hunt around in the dark to find my clothes. I struggle into my running bra, because I refuse to face the crooks without it. When dressed, the next most important item is my .38 from beside the pillow, plus a flashlight. I’ll wait here, where I’m safe.

Things are fine until I hear one of them coming this way. I crouch below the open window. He tugs at the latch holding the door closed; it’s locked. His light shines directly through the screen as he steps on the running board to look inside. It flashes across my two saddles on the rack. I paid almost $3000 each. Even if he doesn’t specifically know about English saddles, he can probably tell by the good quality leather they’re worth at least half of that.

I wonder if he’s going to break in. He will if he has a buyer. I plan to roll back and bring the barrel up on target if he comes in. Suddenly, the screen rips as a knife blade slices through it. He reaches in, groping for the lever to open the door, but his arm isn’t long enough.

Damn it. His arm goes back out the window and he steps off the running board. I hear his feet crunch on the gravel as he hurries away. Will he return? Probably.

I stand up and quickly formulate a plan.

The lock isn’t designed to withstand a crowbar. If that’s what he has in mind, then we’ll be meeting face to face in a few moments.

This time, two men are coming. I know we can make a few bucks on them, one suspect says.

I don’t want to be stuck with English saddles, the second one argues.

We won’t be.

Fine, but hurry up, the second one gives in.

He shoves the pry tool beside the lock, twists it, and the door instantly flies open.

Drop the weapon. Get on your knees. Now! I shout the three commands in an angry voice.

I have my flashlight and .38 aimed at the suspect with the crowbar. His friend runs into the darkness.

The suspect with the bar drops it. Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot. I didn’t do it. He instantly raises his hands. Suddenly, he spins and runs to the barn. My flashlight shines on the path he’s taking. If I were to shoot, it would be at his back. That isn’t going to happen since he isn’t an immediate threat to my life. In fact, he isn’t a threat to me any longer.

I hear their truck start.

Wait, I’m coming! he shouts to his friend.

I grab my keys from the shelf and sprint to my truck. They’re not coming for me, they’re making a run for it. The tires spin as the driver guns it. The second suspect jumps in and they take off. Now I’m in my truck, my tires spinning as I step on the gas.

Saddles are sliding off the open tailgate as they race down the bumpy driveway at high speed. I won’t close the gap between us. I only need to keep them in sight until the sheriffs arrive. They skid into a right turn at the street, losing more saddles.

Thankfully, I see flashing red and blue lights coming my way as help arrives and starts following them. I didn’t even have to advise the dispatcher the suspects are driving a blue pickup. It’s enough for the deputies to see a truck flying out of here, tailgate open, with saddles falling out the back.

The truck speeds away, attempting to evade arrest. Until they reach the bend in the road, where I see the red and blue lights of second unit arriving from the other direction. I stop at the end of the driveway to call to the dispatcher, advising him the deputies are following the correct suspects.

The sheriff following them uses his high-beams to light up the truck. Then the deputy flips on the spotlight, making it as bright as a football stadium. The second unit coming toward them is probably cringing; you never want to be on the down range side of a vehicle stop. He speeds past the suspects, then spins into a U-turn, pulling up beside the first unit.

One at a time, the suspects are ordered out of the truck, put on the ground to prevent them running, and then handcuffed.

They’re seated in a sheriff’s unit with a caged backseat. I’m not worried about identifying the two men with sour expressions. They don’t intimidate me. I’m used to dealing with angry crooks.

One deputy follows me in the suspect’s truck. We transfer the saddles to the barn and he takes photos of all thirteen, including the ones I picked up on the driveway. I have to list each one, with their brand and description on a property report. The detective will want to see that, but it isn’t needed for the arrest.

I walk him through the events of the evening, showing him my trailer where one guy attempted to unlock the door, then returned with a crowbar and the second man.

He’s lucky you have a steady trigger finger, the deputy comments.

If he hadn’t dropped the crowbar, things would have been a lot different. I take a deep breath and slowly let it out.

They chose the wrong night to enrich their bank account, he jokes.

That’s for sure, and I think luck was smiling on me.

The tow truck arrives at the barn, hooks up their ride, and takes it away. The deputies are now free to take the suspects to jail, along with their crowbar and knife as evidence.

I’m too jazzed to sleep. I begin the inventory under the barn lights. It will takes a few hours, but it’s productive work. It’s better than going to bed and being unable to sleep due to leftover adrenaline.

I text Veronica. Everything is ok, but five of your saddles are scratched and covered with dirt.

Why?

We had visitors. Two thieves attempt to clear out your saddle collection. Fortunately, I heard them before they got away.

Oh no! We’ll be home in about thirty minutes.

They’re on their way to jail. I’m listing the saddles on a property report.

Thanks very much. I’ll see you in a few.

Just as she said, they arrive thirty minutes later, pulling up at the barn. I walk her and Mark through the crime scene, explaining what happened.

They must have been waiting until we left, but they had no idea you were here!

That’s what I thought too. I tell them the suspects’ names, but she doesn’t recognize them.

I can’t thank you enough. You saved me thousands of dollars in saddles, plus the lost income from weeks of trail rides. She gives me a tight hug. I’ll finish the report tomorrow. Why don’t you go to bed? she suggests.

Thanks, that sounds good. I’m finally relaxing.

Before drifting off I have a thought. I’m glad I’m sleeping in my dressing room. The suspects had to pry the door open, and the lock will need replacing, but it’s better than sleeping in that unlocked room in the barn. They ransacked it, which I saw when I showed the deputy around. If I’d been in a deep sleep, I may not have heard them until they were inside.

Besides sending two crooks to jail, and saving Veronica a ton of money, I made a pretty good impression my first day on the job.

3

Part of the Team

The rest of the week flies by. By Sunday I’m leading rides on my own. I know the best places for photo ops and the shadiest woodlands for a cool break. But I have to admit,