“I will amend my statement. Small wineries rarely make money. You’ve got to know what you’re doing.”
“That’s true.” Rina finished her pinot. “Actually, I like that theory.”
Decker brightened. “Thank you.”
Rina raised her goblet. “Well, here’s to you and a job well done. You deserve a good meal, and I promise I won’t drive your Porsche.”
“You can drive my Porsche. Just not after you’ve had a couple glasses of wine.”
Rina giggled. “That’s probably a good idea. Cheers.”
Decker smiled and clinked glasses. “Cheers.”
THE TRANSFORMATION WAS magical. The once hard-packed grounds had been covered by a green blanket as far as the eye could see. There were thousands of rows of netted, seedling grape vines. Replacing the guardhouses and paddocks was a spanking new industrial building that held hundreds of oak and steel barrels, several labs for the enologists and wine mixers, and a tasting room. When the place was up and operable, it would be quite a draw for the area.
The sun was trying to break through the marine layer common in L.A. springs. The sky was cloudy, but the air was clean. Decker took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Hardscrabble turned into vibrant, verdant farmland.
Guy’s dream.
“This is unbelievable.” Decker zipped up his jacket. “Thanks for the invitation.”
“Long overdue,” Gil Kaffey said, “but I wanted it to be just right.”
They walked on the tilled earth between the rows of grapevines: Gil Kaffey, Grant Kaffey, Antoine Resseur, Decker, and the well-dressed man on his right who held his arm. He could afford nice clothing with a reward of twenty thousand dollars sitting in his bank account. Harriman couldn’t see any of it, but he sure could smell it.
“Cabernet grapes on the left and chardonnay on the right,” he told Gil.
Gil smiled. “What a nose. Are your taste buds as sensitive?”
“Give me a taste test and then we can both know for sure.”
“It’ll be a long, long time before I can use any of my own grapes. I have been talking to some appellations up north. I think it might be wise to start small with premium grapes and then gradually use that experience on my own crops.”
“How long do you think that will take?” Harriman asked.
“At least another couple of years,” Gil said. “In the meantime, I’ve got plenty to keep me busy. People ask if I miss the business…if I’m sorry I sold out my share to Grant. And I say, what is there to miss?”
Grant said, “Well, we miss you.”
Gil said, “You’d never know it by your profits, bro.”
Grant said, “That’s because we’ve laid off over five hundred people and shut down East Coast operations. You streamline anything, your revenues will go up.”
“Dad should have streamlined the business a long time ago,” Gil said.
“Dad should have done this a long time ago.” Grant swiped an extended arm over the fields—like Moses splitting the Red Sea.
Gil blew out air. “The man could be impossible. He had his fingers in every aspect of the business and was a control freak. He could emasculate you with a few choice words or even one word. Uncle Mace deserves to rot in jail, he deserves to rot in hell. But there’s this little, teeny part of me that understands him.”
“I hear you, bro,” Grant said.
“Dad was a force of nature.” Gil surveyed the ranchland. “But he was also a visionary.”
Resseur patted his boyfriend’s hand. “Should I check in on lunch, Gil? I’m starving.”
“We’ll all head back,” Gil said.
“No, no,” Antoine said. “You stay here and I’ll call you when everything’s ready. I just want to get a head start.” He kissed Gil on the cheek. “Enjoy.”
The men walked along for another minute before Decker spoke. “How many people do you employ?”
“For the fields, it’s mostly Paco Albanez and his family,” Gil said. “When the vines start to mature, I’ll bring in the experts.”
“Seems reasonable.”
“You know I kept on Rondo Martin, Ana Mendez, and Riley Karns even though we sold the horses.”
Grant smiled. “Better to keep them under our employ than to deal with lawsuits.”
Gil laughed. “Paco knows what he’s doing.” No one spoke. “Thank you both for coming down.”
“Yes, really,” Grant said. “Thank you both for everything.”
“No thanks necessary,” Decker said. “I just did my job. If you want to thank Brett, that’s another thing.”
“Not really,” Harriman said. “I wouldn’t have a job if people didn’t testify. Still…” He laughed. “If I had known, maybe I wouldn’t have been such a good citizen.”
“We appreciate what you did,” Decker said.
“We both appreciate what both of you did,” Grant said. “My brother and I.”
For a moment, the air was devoid of man’s intrusion—just the sounds of crows expressing displeasure. Gil broke the silence. “When the place is operable, please come down again. I’ll make it worth your while by giving you each a couple dozen cases.”
“That’s my brother,” Grant said. “Giving away the profits.”
“If I can break even, I’ll be happy.” Gil took in another whiff of air and let it out. “Although I can’t be any happier than I am right now. I just wish Dad and Mom were here to share the dream.”
Grant linked his arm with Gil, and the group started back toward the main house. Decker with Harriman; Grant with Gil.
In the Bible, there was Cain and Abel. But there was also Moses and Aaron—two siblings who respected and loved each other until the day Aaron died. Decker figured Gil and Grant were probably somewhere in between the extremes. Just a year ago, Gil had tearfully admitted to Grant that he had escaped with Antoine Resseur the day Grant was shot at because he really didn’t trust anyone in his family, including his own brother. Grant had been shocked and angry, but eventually the two men reconciled and became closer than ever.
Brother plus brother didn’t always total to brotherhood. But when it did, Decker thought, it was really nice.
About the Author
FAYE KELLERMAN is the author of twenty-six novels, including nineteen New York Times bestselling mysteries that feature the husband-and-wife team of Peter Decker and Rina Lazarus. She has also penned two bestselling short novels with her husband, New York Times bestselling author Jonathan Kellerman, and recently has teamed up with her daughter Aliza to cowrite a teen novel titled Prism. She lives in Los Angeles, California, and Santa Fe, New Mexico.
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ALSO BY FAYE KELLERMAN
The Mercedes Coffin
The Burnt House
The Ritual Bath
Sacred and Profane
The Quality of Mercy
Milk and Honey
Day of Atonement
False Prophet
Grievous Sin
Sanctuary
Justice
Prayers for the Dead
Serpent’s Tooth
Moon Music
Jupiter’s Bones
Stalker
The Forgotten
Stone Kiss
Street Dreams
Straight into Darkness
Garden of Eden and Other Earthly Delights (short stories)
WITH JONATHAN KELLERMAN
Double Homicide
Capital Crimes
WITH ALIZA KELLERMAN
Prism
Credits
Jacket design by Richard Aquan
Jacket photograph Montage © by Alamy
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
BLINDM
AN’S BLUFF. Copyright © 2009 by Plot Line, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition July 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-190077-8
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