by Cat Chandler
Alex smiled. “No. He’s getting our luggage out of the car and giving us some time alone. He refused to be caught in the middle of what he was sure was going to be, and I quote, ‘a girl fest with tears’. He should be here any moment.”
Right on cue, a masculine “hello” called out from the front of the townhouse.
“Just drop the luggage anywhere, honey, and come to the kitchen.”
A very wary-looking Tyler walked into the room, stopping a mere foot or two inside. His deep brown eyes swept over the women. Nicki thought it was comical to see the well-built fireman with his close-cropped brown hair looking so unsure of himself.
Alex motioned him in. “It’s all right, Ty. There aren’t any tears going on.”
All the women laughed at the look of sheer relief on the fireman’s rugged face.
“We were about to invade Nicki’s office to update our murder board,” Maxie announced. “You’re welcome to join us.”
Just then the phone rang. Nicki glanced at the screen display and smiled. “It’s Rob. Everyone stay where they are, this won’t take long and then we can talk lunch and murder.”
Nicki smiled when Tyler instantly perked up. She hit the answer button and lifted the phone to her ear.
“Hi, Rob.” She waited a second. “That’s okay, I don’t have much time either.” Nicki fell silent, quietly drumming her fingers against the counter top.
“Oh yes, that does sound interesting,” she finally said. “Uh huh. Okay. Yes, absolutely. Right. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”
“Not a very lengthy conversation for a boyfriend, dear,” Maxie said.
“At least he didn’t make her cry, so points for that,” Jenna put in.
Tyler’s brows drew together as he stared at Nicki. “Who made you cry?”
“Matt,” Jenna supplied.
“The magazine guy who wants to be Nicki’s boyfriend?”
“We know,” the other three women said in unison as Nicki glared at Alex who only shrugged in response.
“He made Nicki cry?” Tyler looked at all the women who nodded their heads. “The guy’s toast.”
“Now Tyler, dear, I’m sure Nicki doesn’t need you to fight her battles,” Maxie said gently.
The fireman grinned at her. “I’d be happy to, but I wasn’t talking about the dude having to deal with me. He made one of the friends cry. He’s got a real big hole to dig himself out of.”
“What did your boyfriend, of a sort, want?” Alex asked.
“To remind me Mario’s class lecture is tonight.” Nicki tapped a finger against her lower lip, remembering the graded papers on the end of George Lancer’s desk. With the abrupt departure of the teacher, she wondered what had happened to all the students in his class. All those potentially rising stars.
“Did you say something about lunch?” Tyler asked, looking around the kitchen.
Nicki glanced at him and smiled. “I did. How do you feel about ordering pizza?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You should let Ty go with you,” Alex declared for the third time.
And for the third time, Nicki shook her head. “I don’t need a bodyguard, Alex.”
“Well, I don’t think he is one,” her friend retorted.
Tyler looked up from his afternoon snack of a ham sandwich and a beer. “Hey. I could be a bodyguard.”
“I’m sure you could,” Nicki laughed. She glanced at Alex and raised one eyebrow. After all these years, she knew her friend very well.
“And I don’t need someone to make Rob jealous.”
The fireman grinned. “I’d do my best if that’s the way you want to go.”
“Hey,” Alex protested, poking a finger into her fiancé’s side.
It took another ten minutes of arguing, but Nicki finally got her way and chugged off in her Toyota without Tyler’s company. She arrived at the college half-an-hour later and pulled into one of the designated student lots. Quickly paying for a parking permit, she slapped it on her dashboard and went looking for the small lecture hall where Rob’s boss, Mario Rossi, was going to enlighten the attending students on the history of wine.
The class wasn’t due to start for another few minutes, but there were already several groups lingering in front of the double doors. Nicki did what she did best and started mingling with the small crowd, introducing herself and asking a subtle question or two before moving on to the next group.
She hit the jackpot when she strolled up to three, twenty-somethings, standing off to one side and huddled together.
“Hi. Are you here for the History of Wine class?”
The young men nodded in unison then stepped back to make room for her in their group. Nicki smiled. Sometimes the face she’d inherited from her mother really helped.
“I wasn’t at the first class,” she said, keeping her tone light. “I couldn’t make up my mind between this one and the class on winemaking. That ones being taught by a local winemaker, a George Lanciere, and I’ve never heard of this Rossi guy, but I thought I’d give him a try.” Nicki secretly crossed her fingers and said a silent apology to Mario.
“He’s the wine buyer for Catalan House restaurants,” the student with the sparsely grown beard said. Nicki remembered he’d introduced himself as Brian. “And you’re lucky you decided on this class instead of the other one. It was canceled last week.”
“It was?” Nicki frowned. “Why?”
The short, muscular man who gave his name as Shane lowered his voice to a loud whisper. “I read in the paper the dude was killed. Right there in the winery he worked at.”
The other two boys in the group nodded their agreement when Nicki let out the expected gasp of horror.
“Oh no! One of my friends knows him and said he was really nice to the students.”
Nicki didn’t have to wait long for a reaction to that statement. Shane immediately snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Couldn’t prove that by any of us. The guy rarely showed up for class on time, didn’t stay after to answer questions and wouldn’t post any office hours.”
“Never saw him so much as say ‘hi’ to one student,” Brian piped in.
The third boy, whose name she couldn’t remember, gave her a shy-looking smile and nodded.
“Oh. Then I guess what else I was told isn’t true either. That he liked finding new, talented winemakers in his class?” Nicki wasn’t surprised when all three shook their heads.
“It was a beginning class,” Shane stated. “What kind of talent can you see in a beginning class, especially when we hadn’t made any wine yet?”
“I see your point,” Nicki said. She hung out with them for a few more minutes, listening to the latest news on a local rock band she’d never heard of, before politely excusing herself.
Feeling the lead about George’s winemaking class wasn’t going to work out, she was about to head to her car when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and found herself looking right into the very dark eyes of Mario Rossi.
“Nicki! I’m glad you could make it tonight.” He took one of her hands in his, and as was his habit, raised it to his lips and dropped a light kiss on the back.
Knowing she was trapped now, Nicki managed to smile while she withdrew her hand. “I wouldn’t miss it, Mario. I’m sorry I had a schedule conflict for your first lecture.” Which was basically a polite way to say she’d completely forgotten about it.
“Oh? Rob told me you had a flat tire on the way to campus that night.”
Making a mental note to talk to Rob about his habit of making up fake excuses, she shook her head and laughed. “Well, I certainly didn’t schedule that. Can you tell me what the focus is for your lecture tonight? I might need to get it straight for my blog, or possibly an article in the magazine?”
Mario’s smile was back in place and he puffed his chest out a little. “I’ll be discussing the various uses for wine barrels. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
“Oh, I’m sure I will,” N
icki said. She glanced over at the double doors that an unknown maintenance person had just opened. “Shall we go in?”
Thirty minutes later, Nicki was doing her best to stay awake. She’d tried to take notes, but now was only listening with half an ear as she played with an outline on how to write a wildflower article that would really get Matt’s attention. Something Mario said made her hand freeze in place. She looked up and stared at him, concentrating to catch the fleeting thought.
“Oak has been used to age wine for over two thousand years,” Mario droned on, reading directly from his notes.
Nicki was tuning him out when she caught the tail end of “different grains.” Before she realized it, her hand had shot up. When he didn’t notice her, she called out his name.
“Mario? Excuse me, Mario?”
In the row of seats behind her, Shane leaned forward and poked her in the back. “I thought you said you didn’t know the guy.”
Nicki ignored him and continued to wave her hand at Mario, who finally stopped and shook his head at her.
“I said I’d take questions at the end of the lecture, Miss Connors, but go ahead.”
“Can you please repeat what you said about the grains being different?”
“It’s simple enough.” He pointed to the enlarged pictures projected onto the big screen in back of him. “French oak is a slower growing tree and has a tighter grain than its faster growing cousin, the American oak.”
Nicki studied the pictures as an image from the crime scene flashed through her mind. A smile formed on her lips. “Of course.”
She got up from her seat and left the lecture hall, flipping through the contacts on her phone as she did a fast walk out to her car. She found the number she wanted and touched the dial button, crossing her fingers it would be picked up.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Stella? It’s Nicki Connors.”
Less than an hour later Nicki flew into her townhouse, tossing her purse in the general direction of the hall table, and yelling for Alex as she ran toward her office.
“What?” Alex popped her head around the wall separating the living room from the hallway. “What are you yelling about?”
“Is Ty with you?”
“Present,” he called out. “And watching the game.”
“That’s too bad,” Nicki called back. “Because I need you to bring your cell phone and come into my office.” She tossed a look back at Alex. “You too.”
Within thirty seconds the three of them were standing in Nicki’s office. Alex and her fiancé uncovered the murder board while Nicki frantically scribbled on a full-size sheet of paper. When she was done, she neatly folded and then ripped the paper into thirds, handing a piece to Alex and Tyler.
“What’s this?” Alex asked, frowning at the phone number on her piece of paper.
“I need you each to call your number and tell them to get here right away.”
“Mine says Jenna.” Tyler walked over to the far wall and gave it a series of solid pounds. “Jenna,” he yelled. “Get over here. Nicki needs to talk to you right now.”
An answering pound came from the other side and Tyler turned and grinned at his future wife. “Can I go back to the game now?”
“It depends,” Alex said, giving Nicki a stern-eyed look. “On why we need to get these people here?”
Nicki walked over to the murder board, picked up a marker and circled a name.
“Because I know who murdered George Lancer.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Just before eleven the next morning, Nicki, Jenna, Alex and Maxie walked into the Holland Winery tasting room. The women were smiling and chatting away as they approached the long bar at the far end of the tasting room. Geri was behind the bar, rearranging bottles along the glass shelves. As the group approached, she looked up and nodded at Nicki.
“You’re the first customers today.”
“Quiet day,” Nicki observed. “Where’s Kurt?”
Geri picked up a dish towel and started wiping down the top of the bar. “He called in sick. Jim asked me to cover until he could get someone else to come in.”
“If you’re out here, and there isn’t a replacement for poor George yet, who’s making the wine?” Jenna asked.
“I’m sure we can get by for one day,” Geri said. “What can I get all of you? We have some nice whites today and are featuring a merlot as well.”
“Nothing right away,” Nicki answered the assistant. Geri was dressed in her usual uniform of black and white. “We’re waiting for the rest of our party.”
“I believe they’ve just arrived,” Maxie said, waving at the four men coming through the tall, double doors.
Nicki smiled at the big man bringing up the rear of the newly arrived group. “Hello, Chief. I see you managed to corral all of them.”
Chief Turnlow gave a brief nod before pointing to a table close to the bar. “Why don’t you gentlemen have a seat?”
“I can’t stay long enough to have a seat,” Jeremy Brennan said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have work I need to get back to. Why are we here, anyway?”
“I’d be happy to sit down and listen to whatever you have to say to us, Chief.” Bill Stacy pulled out a chair, sat and plopped one ankle on top of the opposite knee. “And that’s a stupid question, Brennan. Since he’s got the three winery owners who either did, or in your case wanted to, employ Lancer, then we’re obviously here because of his murder.” He looked over at the chief. “Is that right, Turnlow? Have you solved the murder yet?”
The chief shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”
“So why are we here?” Jim Holland asked.
“I haven’t solved the murder, but Nicki Connors has.”
Loud, indrawn breaths raced around the room as every eye turned to Nicki. She cleared her throat.
“Very dramatic, Chief. Thank you.”
Chief Turnlow smiled at her. “Don’t mention it, Ms. Connors.”
“Believe me, she won’t,” Jenna said under her breath just before Alex poked an elbow into her ribs.
Not entirely comfortable with everyone staring at her, Nicki leaned back against the bar, angling her body so she could include Geri.
“It was the barrels that told the story,” she began.
“The barrels?” Jeremy shrugged. “What barrels?”
“You just keep quiet now, Jeremy Brennan, and let Nicki talk,” Maxie said. “Go on, dear.”
“Everyone here knows that Geri and I found George’s body, but I spent the most time in that room since Geri was too upset to stay until the ambulance arrived. Do you remember what I told you about being in that room, Chief?”
The chief nodded. “Sure do. Instead of staring at a dead body, you counted all the rings in the barrelhead and moved on to the stones in the wall.”
“That’s right. I counted all the rings in the barrelhead.”
“And so?” Jeremy demanded, his foot tapping rapidly against the stone floor. “All barrelheads have rings showing on the lids. They’re made from trees.”
“Yes, they are,” Nicki agreed. “And wine barrels are made from very specific trees. Oak trees. While Holland buys both French oak barrels and American oak barrels, George preferred French oak so much that no one ever saw him use anything else when he made his personal blends.”
“Common knowledge,” Jim Holland said. “We even talked about it at the tasting event.”
“Yes, we did,” Nicki said. “But I learned yesterday that French and American oaks aren’t alike, and it isn’t just the flavors they impart into the wine. French oak is a slower growing tree, with a much tighter grain in the wood, much tighter than the grain found in most American oak. When I was in that private room George always kept locked, and staring at the heads of those wine barrels, I saw something I didn’t realize at the time was important. The rings exposed on the barrelheads were much further apart then they would be for a slow-growing tree. Those barrels were not French oak.”
; The chief cleared his throat. “I asked Victor, the warehouse foreman here, to verify that. We both went in and took a look. He confirmed the barrels in George’s private room are American oak. He also looked up the distribution records from the warehouse and confirmed that George Lancer only signed for American oak barrels in the last year for his personal use, and most of those within a month of each other. All together, he signed for ten of them. And paid for them because his contract only allowed for French oak barrels.”
Nicki looked over at Jeremy. “Ten barrels. The same number you told me was the entire production of George’s special blend.”
“So? That’s what George told me,” the young winery owner said.
“He told me the same thing,” Jim put in. “His production was ten barrels.”
“When the chief told me the results of the lab tests on the wine barrels in George’s room, he said all eight barrels had tested negative. Eight barrels, not ten. We seem to be missing two barrels.”
“Maybe he hadn’t used them yet and had them stashed somewhere else, or he could have given some away,” Bill Stacy said.
“George Lancer wasn’t the kind of man to give anything away, much less whole barrels of his precious creation. But he did give away some secret tastings of his new blend, didn’t he, Jim?” Nicki turned to look at the winery owner. “Wasn’t that the price you demanded before you would agree to cover the cost for George’s tasting event? He was going to give you a barrel of the wine in return, but you wanted to taste it first.”
“Hey,” Jeremy instantly protested. “He promised me the whole production.”
“Quit being a fool, Jeremy. Did you really think Holland was going to put on that event for nothing?” Bill asked. He also turned to look at Jim Holland. “Well, did you get to sample the goods before you agreed to foot the bill?”
Jim slowly nodded. “He let me have a glass. It was worth the price of the event.”
“And I’m sure you also had a preview tasting, Jeremy,” Nicki said. “To give up a twenty percent stake in your winery, you’d want to know you were getting something of equal value in return.”
