by Nora Roberts
“Have you ever had dinner in Ms. Bowers’s apartment before?”
“No. I’ve been there. Picked her up once for a business deal at the Four Seasons. We went together. That was about a year ago.”
“Why don’t you just ask if he’s ever slept with her?” Sophia suggested. “Ty, did you and Margaret ever—”
“No.” Torn between irritation and embarrassment, he shot her a fulminating look. “Jesus, Sophie.”
Before he could gather his composure, she patted his shoulder and took over. “She was attracted to him, and he was oblivious. Men often are, and Ty’s a bit more dense about that sort of thing than most. I’ve been trying to get him in bed for—”
“Will you stop it?” He had to struggle not to simply lower his head into his hands. “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened to Margaret. She was a nice woman. I liked her. And maybe if I hadn’t canceled I could’ve called nine-one-one when she had the heart attack. But I don’t see what these questions have to do with anything.”
“Did you ever give Ms. Bowers a bottle of wine?”
Tyler dragged his hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Probably. I give a lot of people, and business associates, bottles of wine. Kind of goes with the territory.”
“Wine carrying the Giambelli label, the Italian label?”
“No, I use my own. Why?”
“Ms. Bowers consumed nearly an entire bottle of Castello di Giambelli Merlot on the evening you were to dine with her. The bottle contained digitalis.”
“I don’t get it.” Even as Tyler reared up in his seat, Sophia was clamping a hand on his shoulder.
“She was murdered?” Sophia demanded. “Poisoned? Margaret was . . . If you’d been there. If you’d had the wine . . .”
“It’s possible that if more than one person had shared the bottle, the dosage wouldn’t have been lethal,” Claremont stated. “But Ms. Bowers consumed nearly the entire bottle, in what was certainly one sitting. Do you have any idea how digitalis found its way into a bottle of Italian Merlot, and into Ms. Bowers’s apartment?”
“I have to call my grandmother.” Sophia sprang to her feet. “If there’s been product tampering, we have to deal with it quickly. I need all the information on that bottle. The vintage. I have to have a copy of the label to run it down.”
“Your grandmother’s been informed,” Maguire told her. “As have the proper Italian authorities. Product tampering is a possibility, but at this point we have no idea when Ms. Bowers obtained the bottle, or if it was given to her. We can’t confirm she didn’t add the dose to the wine herself.”
“Kill herself? That’s ridiculous.” Ty got to his feet. “She wasn’t suicidal. She was doing great when I talked to her, happy with her job, excited about the new responsibilities, the travel.”
“Do you have any enemies, Mr. MacMillan? Someone who might have known your plans with Ms. Bowers that evening?”
“No. And I’m not a target. In the first place, if the wine was tampered with, I’d have known it. I’d have nosed it or tasted it. It’s what I do.”
“Exactly,” Maguire concurred.
Sophia felt her hackles rise. “Ty, you’ve answered enough questions. We’re going to call a lawyer.”
“I don’t need a goddamn lawyer.”
“We’re calling Uncle James. Now.”
“That’s your right.” Claremont got to his feet. “A question for you, Ms. Giambelli. Do you know anything about the relationship between Ms. Bowers and your father?”
Her blood iced over. “As far as I know, they didn’t have one outside of business.”
“I see. Well, thank you for your time.”
“My father and Margaret.”
“It’s just as likely he was pulling your chain.”
But Sophia worried on the nugget—chewing it, measuring its texture. “If there was something between them, and their deaths are connected—”
“Don’t rush it, Sophie.” He put a hand over hers briefly, then downshifted to turn into the villa. He knew how shaken she was. She hadn’t voiced the slightest objection when he’d gotten behind the wheel of her car to drive them.
“If there’s been tampering. If there’s a chance, the slightest chance there are other bottles—”
“Don’t rush it,” he said again. He stopped the car, shifted to her. He took her hand now, held it. “We’ll have to check it out. Every step, every detail. We can’t panic. Because if there has been tampering, Sophie, that’s just what whoever did it wants. Panic, chaos, scandal.”
“I know. The scandal’s my job. I can handle it. I’ll think of something to turn the publicity. But . . . my father and Margaret, Ty. If there was something there—” She tightened her grip on his hand when he started to shake his head. “I have to think of it. If there was, did he know about the tampering? How many times a year did he travel to Italy? Eight, ten, twelve?”
“Don’t go there, Sophia.”
“Why? You have. You think I can’t see it? You have, others will. So I have to get there first. I don’t want to believe this of him. I have to accept all the rest, but I don’t want to believe this.”
“You’re making too big a leap, too fast. Slow down. Facts, Soph. Let’s start with facts.”
“The facts are two people are dead.” Because her hand wanted to tremble, she drew it from his and pushed out of the car. “Margaret took over most of my father’s accounts and responsibilities. Whether or not there was a personal relationship between them, that’s a connection.”
“Okay.” He wanted to offer her something, but it seemed all she wanted was cold logic. “We’ll look at that connection and see where it takes us. First we deal with the wine,” he said as they started up the stairs. “Then with the fallout.”
The family was in the front parlor, with David standing by the window talking on the phone. Tereza sat, soldier-straight, sipping coffee. She nodded when Ty and Sophia came in, and merely gestured to chairs.
“James is on his way.” Eli paced back and forth in front of the fire. The strain seemed to have weight, and caused his face to sag. “David’s talking to Italy now, getting damage control started.”
“Let me get you some coffee,” Pilar began.
“Mama. Sit.”
“I need to do something.”
“Mama.” Sophia rose and walked to the coffee cart to stand beside Pilar. “Dad and Margaret?”
“I don’t know.” Her hands were steady on the pot, even as her insides shivered. “I just don’t. I would’ve thought— It was my impression Rene kept him on a short leash.”
“Not short enough.” Sophia kept her voice quiet. “He was involved with a woman at my office.”
“Oh.” It was a kind of sigh. “I wish I could tell you, Sophie. But I just don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Understand this.” Sophia turned at her grandmother’s voice. Waited. “If there was something between Tony Avano and Margaret Bowers, the police will speculate that any of us, any of us who are connected to them, might have had a part in their deaths. We’re family here. We’ll stand by each other, and for each other until this is done.”
She glanced toward David when he lowered the phone. “So?”
“We’re tracking it,” he began. “We’ll recall all bottles of Merlot of that vintage. We should, very shortly, be able to determine which cask the bottle was drawn from. I’ll leave in the morning.”
“No. Eli and I will leave in the morning.” Tereza lifted a hand, closed her fingers around Eli’s when he gripped it. “This is for me. I leave it to you to see that the California operation is secure. That there’s no breach. You and Tyler must make certain of it.”
“Paulie and I can start with the wineries,” Tyler suggested. “David can look at the bottling.”
David nodded. “We’ll go over the personnel files, one by one. You know the crews better than I do. It’s most likely the problem’s contained in Italy, but we’ll make certain California’s secure.”
> Sophia already had her memo pad in her lap. “I’ll have press releases, both English and Italian, ready in an hour. I’ll need all the details on the recall. We’ll want a story on how exacting the winemaking process is for Giambelli-MacMillan. How safe, how secure. We’ll certainly take some hits in Italy, but we may be able to keep it below crisis point here. We’ll need to allow camera crews in the vineyards, and the wineries both here and overseas. Nonna, with you and Eli going over, we’ll be able to show that Giambelli is family-run, and that La Signora continues to take a personal interest.”
“It is family-run,” Tereza said flatly. “And I take a very personal interest.”
“I know that.” Sophia lowered her book. “It’s important to make sure the press and the consumer know it. Believe it. Are impressed by it. We’ll need to use Mama here—Mama, Ty, me. We’ll show the roots, the family involvement and concern. A hundred years of tradition, excellence and responsibility. I know how to do this.”
“She’s right.” No one was more surprised than Sophia when Tyler spoke. “Mostly I don’t give a damn about publicity or perception, which,” he added, “is why the two of you dumped me into it. And I’d as soon have a plague of locusts in my winery as reporters. I still mostly don’t give a damn, but I know a little more about it. Enough to be sure Sophia will find a way to spin this around to damp down the worst of the damage, and probably find one to turn it around to benefit the company. She’ll find the way because she cares more than anybody.”
“Agreed. So, we each do what we do best.” Tereza looked at Eli, and something passed between them in that beat of silence. “But we do nothing else until we meet with James Moore. It’s not only the reputation of the company that must be protected, but the company itself. Sophia, draft your release. David will help you with the details. Then we’ll let the lawyers look at it. And everything else.”
. . .
It was a blow to the pride. That, Tereza thought as she stood at her office window, was the hardest to accept. What was hers had been violated, threatened. The work of a lifetime besmirched by one tainted bottle of wine.
Now, in so many ways, she had to trust others to save her legacy.
“We’ll handle this, Tereza.”
“Yes.” She lifted a hand to cover the one Eli laid on her shoulder. “I was remembering when I was a young girl and my grandfather walked with me down the rows back home. He said to me that it wasn’t enough to plant. That what was planted must be tended, protected, cherished and disciplined. The vines were his children. They became mine.”
“You’ve raised them well.”
“And paid the price. I was less of a wife to the man I married here so long ago than I might have been, less of a mother to the daughter I birthed. I had the responsibility passed to me, and the ambition, Eli. Such ambition.”
It lived in her still, and she didn’t regret it.
“Would there have been more children if I hadn’t wished so desperately for my vines to be fertile? Would my child have made the choices she made if I had been more her mother?”
“Things happen as they’re meant to happen.”
“That’s the practical Scot. We Italians, we tend to believe more in chance. And retribution.”
“What’s happened isn’t retribution, Tereza. It’s either a terrible accident or a criminal act. You’re not responsible either way.”
“I took responsibility the day I took Giambelli.” Her eyes scanned the vines, the sleeping promise of them. “Aren’t I responsible for pushing Sophia and Tyler together? Thinking of the company, never imagining what might happen between them on another level.”
“Tereza.” He turned her to face him. “Realigning so that they work together doesn’t trickle down and make you the trigger for shooting those two very healthy young people onto the office floor.”
She sighed. “No, but it proves I didn’t take their health into account. We’re passing our heritage into their hands. I expected them to fight. We both did. But sex can make enemies of people. And that I didn’t anticipate. God, that makes me feel old.”
“Tereza.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “We are old.”
He said it to make her laugh, and she obliged him. “Well. We didn’t become enemies. We can hope each of them took something from us.”
“I love you, Tereza.”
“I know. I didn’t marry you for love, Eli.”
“I know, my dear.”
“For business,” she said, stepping back from him. “A merger. A wise business move. I respected you. I liked you a great deal and enjoyed your company. Instead of being punished for such calculation, I was rewarded. I love you very much. I hope you know that, too.”
“I do. We’ll weather this, Tereza.”
“I don’t need you by my side. But I want you there. Very much want you there. That, I think, says more. Means more.”
He took the hand she held out to him. “We’ll go down. James should be here soon.”
James looked over Sophia’s proposed release, nodded. “Good.” He slipped off his reading glasses. “Clear, calm, with a personal touch. I wouldn’t change a thing, from a legal standpoint.”
“Then I’ll go up, finalize it, alert the troops and get it out.”
“Take Linc with you.” James winked at her. “He’s a good general dogsbody.”
He waited until they’d left the room. “Tereza, Eli, I’ll be consulting with your lawyers in Italy. At this point you’re handling the problem quickly and decisively. This should cut down on any potential legal actions against the company. You may be looking at some suits here. You need to be prepared for that. I’ll get what I can from the police. Unless it’s substantiated that the chemical was in the wine prior to it being opened, you’ve nothing to worry about other than damaging publicity. If Giambelli is found liable through negligence, we’ll deal with it.”
“Negligence isn’t my concern, James. If the wine was tainted before it was opened, it wasn’t negligence but murder.”
“Right now that’s speculation. From the questions the police asked you, and you, Tyler, they’re speculating as well. They don’t know when the digitalis was added to the wine. From a legal standpoint, this keeps Giambelli one very vital step back from the problem.”
“The problem,” Tyler said, “is a woman’s dead.”
“That’s a problem for the police. And while you may not like it, I’m going to advise you not to answer any more questions from them without counsel present. It’s their job to build a case. It’s not yours to help them.”
“I knew her.”
“That’s right. And she had prepared a cozy and romantic dinner for two on the night she died. A dinner you didn’t attend. Right now the police wonder just how well you knew her. Let them wonder. And while they’re wondering, we’ll look into Margaret Bowers. Who she was, who she knew, what she wanted.”
“Hell of a mess, huh?”
Sophia glanced up at Linc. “I have a feeling we’re going to be sweeping it up for a long time.”
“Plenty of brooms. You’ve got Dad, so you’ve got the best. And no way Mom’ll stay out of it. Then you’ve got me.”
She managed a smile. “A triple threat.”
“Damn right. Moore, Moore and Moore. Who could ask for anything—” “Stop. I’ll have to hit you.” She finished proofing the release on her screen, then faxed it to P.J. “Better if this comes out of the San Francisco office than here. I want it personal, but I don’t want it to look like a family cover-up. I’ve started these follow-ups and story pitches. Why don’t you take a look, put your legal mind to them and see if I’ve covered my ass.” “Sure. Always liked your ass.”
“Ha ha.” She got up to let him take her place at the desk. “How’s the doctor?”
“Cruising right along. You ought to snag a date and meet us some night. We could hit some hot spots, have a few laughs. You look like you could use a few laughs.”
“More than a few. My social life doesn�
�t exist these days, and that looks to be the pattern for the foreseeable future.”
“This from the party queen?”
“The party queen’s lost her crown.” Since he was using her computer, she grabbed the phone to check in with P.J.
“You ask me, you could use a little break, Sophie. You’re edgy. Were edgy,” he added when she shot him a look, “before this last flurry of crap hit. All work and no play and yadda-yadda.”
“I don’t have time to play,” she snapped. “I don’t have time to think past the next move, or take a breath without worrying what’s going to jump in my face next. I’ve been putting in twelve-hour days, minimum, for nearly three months. I have calluses on my damn hands, had to fire a top staff member, and I haven’t had sex for six goddamn months.”
“Whoa. Ouch. And I didn’t mean the calluses. I’d offer to help you out there, but the doctor’s liable to object.”
She blew out a breath. “I think I’m going to take up yoga.” She dragged open her desk drawer, pulled out her aspirin as P.J. came on the line. “Fax come through?” She listened, nodded as she worked off the top of the bottle. “Get it out on the wire ASAP, then . . . What? Christ, when? All right, all right. Get the release out. Get me the information, word for word. I’ll work up a response. Don’t give any comments, just use the release. See that all department heads, all key personnel have a copy of it. That’s the company line until further notice. Keep me updated.”
She hung up, stared over at Linc. “It’s out. It’s already leaked.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GIAMBELLI-MACMILLAN, THE GIANT OF THE WINE INDUSTRY, HAS SUFFERED ANOTHER CRISIS. IT HAS BEEN CONFIRMED THAT A TAINTED BOTTLE OF WINE WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEATH OF MARGARET BOWERS, AN EXECUTIVE WITH THE COMPANY. POLICE ARE INVESTIGATING. THE POSSIBILITY OF PRODUCT TAMPERING IS BEING CONSIDERED, AND GIAMBELLI-MACMILLAN IS RECALLING BOTTLES OF CASTELLO DI GIAMBELLI MERLOT, 1992. SINCE THE MERGER OF THE GIAMBELLI-MACMILLAN WINERIES LAST DECEMBER . . .
