Decanting a Murder

by Nadine Nettmann

  “I’m sorry.” I stared at Tessa’s somber face. “I wonder if we can find another one here. That way it will be like your mom is still with you.”

  “I’d love that.”

  “Describe it again.”

  “Small, definitely made out of china, and a girl playing a piano.” She shrugged. “That’s as much as I can remember.”

  “Wait, I think I’ve seen something similar to that!”

  “No way, where?”

  “At the house two doors down. They have a statue of a small child playing a piano. Like a stand up piano, not one of those long ones. And it’s all faded and old looking, right?” I outlined the shape and size with my hand.

  “Yes, that sounds just like it!”

  I paused for a moment. “Do you want it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, let’s go get it.” I stood up and put my hand on my bedroom door.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m serious. It’s been dusty for years, they don’t even look at it. And I know it would mean so much to you.”

  Tessa hesitated before a smile grew on her face. “Okay.”

  We left the house and walked along the quiet cul-de-sac, only ducking into the bushes once we reached the two-story house which sat in total darkness.

  “Look, we can go in there.” I pointed to a window on the side of the house.

  “But how?”

  I ran to the window and pushed it up three feet. “It’s not locked.”

  “I don’t know, Katie, I think this is a bad idea. Let’s go back to your room.”

  “Fine, you stay here, I’ll be right back.”

  “What if there’s an alarm? Katie, don’t do this. You don’t need to do this.”

  I climbed in through the window. “Nah, it’ll be fine. I’ll just be a sec.” The house was silent as I crept into the living room. Bookshelves lined half of the room, but I knew exactly where I had seen the figurine. I approached the fireplace and found the delicate china statue on the mantel. It was just as I had described to Tessa, a girl playing a small piano.

  “Katie, the cops are here,” Tessa said as she scrambled through the window and ran into the living room. “We need to go.”

  “Hold on, I almost have it.” I reached for the statue and pulled it off the mantel, safely into my hands. “Look, it’s here. Is this it? Is this like the one you had?”

  “Yes, but we need to go.”

  I took a step forward and tripped on the corner of the rug, the statue falling from my hands, hitting the unforgiving wood floor and shattering into what seemed like a million pieces.

  A pounding came from the front door. “Police, open up.”

  I fell to my knees and tried to gather the pieces, a portion of the china piano in my left hand.

  “Katie, stop.”

  The front door swung open as Tessa grabbed me and pulled me toward the window.

  Officers stormed the house as Tessa pushed me outside. “Hide,” she said in a loud whisper.

  I fell to the ground as flashlights landed on Tessa, her hands up in the air. Tessa stood in front of the window, blocking the policeman’s view of the outside as I scrambled into the bushes.

  “Check the house,” he yelled to his partner.

  “There’s no one here but me,” said Tessa. She gave a slight nod to me in the bushes as she was cuffed, and then she was gone. I stayed hidden until the coast was clear and then made it safely back to my house.

  I opened my eyes and looked at Dean. “The owners of the house pressed charges against Tessa. They never knew I was inside. Nothing happened to me.”

  Dean leaned back in his chair. “You’re a lot more complicated than you seem.”

  “You have no idea.”

  He looked at the table as he spoke. “I’m not sure what the process would be on that. She pled guilty, she served her time. I’m glad you’ve come clean, but I’m not sure how it can all be reversed. I can look into it, but I don’t know how it would affect this case. We still have video footage of Tessa at Garrett.”

  I nodded. “At least the truth is out now.”

  “I didn’t really figure you as a criminal.”

  I shrugged. “I haven’t done a thing wrong since that night.” I looked up at the ceiling. “Okay, except for maybe a few parking tickets and one speeding ticket.”

  Dean scratched his head. “I’ll let you know what we’ll do.”

  “Okay.” I hesitated. “But will you tell Tessa?”

  “Sure. But don’t you want to tell her yourself ? I can take you back there right now.”

  “No. She won’t want to see me, but thanks.” I stood up and walked toward the door of the station, pausing to let Peters pass by with three people who had clearly hit the tasting rooms a little too hard already. Mondays didn’t matter on vacation. He filed them in the entrance area as I headed down the steps. My shoulders were lighter and the pit in my stomach had disappeared.

  As I climbed into my Jeep to drive to Frontier, I remembered my promise to Dean, to tell him before I met with anyone involved in the investigation.

  I ran back up the steps. The usually calm entrance area of the station was electric with the energy of the three intoxicated occupants. Two of their shirts were soaked with red wine, filling the air with a thick smell of alcohol. Dean kept one guy from throwing a punch while Peters held another guy, and a third officer I hadn’t seen before gently held back a lady even though she was the one putting up most of the fight.

  “You bastard,” she screamed at one of the guys. “This is all your fault.”

  “I’m gonna kill you,” the man yelled back.

  The six people in the room, three drunks and three officers, became a swirling merry-go-round. I stood with my back to the door and tried not to get hit. During a pause, I tried to motion to Dean that I needed to tell him something, but the struggle escalated.

  One man managed to free his arm and promptly punched Dean in the face. Dean wavered for a second, gaining his wits, and took the guy down to the ground in one swift motion, his face pressed hard against the linoleum tile. The handcuffs came off Dean’s belt and were around the guy’s wrists within seconds.

  The other two calmed down while the man was being cuffed, but once he was restrained they lunged at each other again.

  I wasn’t in the mood to wait through all of this distraction. I wanted to get the wine and get back to San Francisco. The drunk man, although cuffed, struggled on the floor with Dean’s steady grip on his shoulder.

  I stepped to the side of the action and walked through the swinging gate. I felt as though I was betraying orders, a civilian walking through the station, but I would only be a second. I reached Dean’s desk and grabbed a pen from the cup holder. A blank notepad sat to the right of his computer screen. I wrote a quick note, Heading to Frontier to pick up some wine from Vanessa. –Katie. I glanced at my watch and put 1:43 p.m. on the top of the note.

  I returned to the front of the station where all three fighters had successfully been cuffed on the floor, their hands behind their backs. I managed to lock eyes with Dean for a moment and I motioned that I had left him a note on his desk. He nodded and returned his focus to the three people on the floor in front of him.

  I exited the station and started the drive toward Frontier.

  twenty-four

  pairing suggestion: barolo—piedmont, italy

  An Italian wine with gripping tannins for gripping situations.

  -

  I pulled up at the closed gates of Frontier Winery, a small piece of white paper dangling from the call box.

  Problems with the intercom, park outside. I’ll meet you in the cellar. –L.

  I pushed on the right gate, which opened a few inches but no more. I tried again but knew that although it was at le
ast enough for me to squeeze through, it would not fit a case of wine. A warning registered deep in my gut.

  I went back to the note and pulled it off the call box. I’ll meet you in the cellar. I remembered Tessa’s comment about Lisa’s lack of work, yet she would take all the credit. Obviously Lisa would make me carry the case back to my car outside the gates. Fine. I could do that.

  I parked my car at the side and entered the gates, the gravel driveway crunching under my feet. I relished the moment when I reached the grass and my footsteps became silent.

  I headed behind the winery, the entire property absent of movement. I pulled open the heavy right door of the cellar and stepped inside. It banged behind me as the cold air and darkness enveloped me.

  “Lisa? Are you here?” My voice echoed down the pitch black tunnel. If Lisa had been inside, the lights would have been on. But then again, maybe not.

  A chill went up my neck followed by the sinking feeling that I shouldn’t be here. I felt my pocket for my cell phone, to use it as a light, but it wasn’t there. It was in my car, as always. When would I learn?

  I shuddered and rubbed my bare arms, regretting that I had also left my jacket in the car. The dark had been my foe since I was seven when I accidentally locked myself in a closet. Right now, it wasn’t the fact that I couldn’t see, it was the thought of what I couldn’t see. The opaque reality in front of me could possess any number of threats, from spiders and rats to an attacker. Normally I would have turned around and left, but after everything that had happened, I now had nothing to lose.

  I searched for the light switch to the left of the door, as I had seen Tessa do. My hand touched the stone bricks but no switch.

  I stepped farther to the side and tried again, this time my fingers brushing the small protruding light box. I hit the switch and the lights behind the barrels came on one by one. The tunnel seemed darker than when I had been in there with Tessa.

  “Lisa?” I took a few steps. My voice echoed down and back with no response. “Lisa?” I glanced behind me, a sliver of light at the crease where the doors met. A phone call to Frontier would be an easy one to make from my Jeep, to ask Vanessa or Lisa about the wine. Or even walking out of the cellar and knocking on the office door would be more productive than waiting in the cellar alone.

  “Back here,” said a voice from the deep part of the tunnel.

  “Lisa? Can you come meet me up here?” My request was met with silence. I reached into my pocket and took out my wine opener, pulling open the small blade on the end and holding it in front of me as I walked.

  I continued into the tunnel, taking one step at a time, my footsteps echoing into the depths of the dimly lit cellar, which left a lot to the imagination. I must have missed another light switch somewhere.

  I passed by the alcoves and tunnels that read 2012, 2011, 2010. I continued down the main tunnel until I reached the locked gates.

  “Lisa?” My voice echoed down the tunnel behind the gates as the sound of footsteps came from behind me.

  I turned around as all the lights went out.

  Darkness consumed the area and I gripped the gates behind me, trying to keep my bearings as the blackness spun in front of me. My heart rate escalated as my ears strained to pick up any hint of noise in the eerily silent tunnel.

  A bottle exploded near my face, shattering the silence as the force of the glass colliding with the stone wall sent thousands of shards ricocheting around me. From the amount of glass and wine that doused me, it must have missed my head by mere inches.

  I dropped to my knees, my wine opener falling somewhere in front of me. I left it and scampered to the side, searching for one of the small tunnels as my heartbeat echoed throughout my body. My hand felt the outline of a tunnel and I crawled in, my elbow banging against two wooden crates stacked on top of each other against the wall. I pushed them in front of me, creating a barrier to protect my safe haven.

  My breathing was quick and shallow as I waited. A bottle exploded above my head. I shielded my face with my arm as glass and wine rained down on me. An intense buttery smell filled the tunnel.

  A bottle struck my left shoulder, forcing a cry of pain to escape from my lips, as the bottle fell to the floor and cracked, the force softened by the blow.

  I grabbed my shoulder as another bottle shattered nearby.

  I could cry for help, but the stone cellar went deep into the hillside. No one would hear me. My options were to wait and probably die, or get out. I needed to get out.

  The cellar door, my exit to freedom, seemed a long way down the black tunnel when an assailant, who clearly knew the tunnel better than I did, was attacking me.

  Two more bottles exploded near me, glass shards hitting my legs.

  Then silence.

  I waited but there was nothing. Perhaps they were gathering more bottles, but I didn’t want to wait to find out.

  I jumped past the crates, my feet slipping on the debris from the attack. I took one leap and then another, everything moving in slow motion as I ran through the dark abyss.

  A rush of air flew by my face and exploded against the wall next to me, glass cascading to the floor.

  I put my hands in front of my face and turned around to protect myself.

  Another bottle shattered next to me, forcing me to run back deeper into the tunnel, slipping as I ran across the broken glass. I slammed into the iron gate that guarded the back bottles, warm liquid running down my face. Blood.

  I felt along the bars until I found the lock. I pulled at it and turned left and right, remembering what Tessa had done on Friday night.

  It clicked in my hands and I swung open the gate and jumped inside, closing it behind me. I fumbled with the lock, but it fell out of my hands to the floor.

  I reached down and felt along the damp floor. I wanted to secure myself in the tunnel, away from my pursuer, but the lock was gone. I tried again but it wasn’t there. I darted away from the gate, my hands in front of me for protection.

  I reached the back stone wall and followed it to the right, feeling for a door, staircase, or anywhere I could go. The wall was solid. I was stuck. A rabbit in a corner. No way out.

  I sank down in the corner and waited. If my assailant arrived, I would jump and attack, aiming as best I could for the eyes or the groin.

  My eyes had adjusted to the dark, but they only gave me enough information to play tricks on me. Movement seemed to be everywhere as the blackness swirled around me.

  I waited, my knees aching as I crouched. The cellar was silent. My left shoulder throbbed and my arms stung as if plagued by a hundred bees. I felt my forehead, my hand following the warm stickiness until it reached a gash on top of a welt.

  The sound of a bottle rolling down the tunnel like a bowling ball in an alley broke the silence. It bumped the wall next to me.

  My attacker was inside the gates.

  I silently counted to three and jumped up, pawing at the darkness in front of me. My hands grasped at the air, every bit of force I had pushing forward.

  I hit nothing.

  I jabbed a few more times and stopped, my hands formed in fists near my face. “I’m here and I’m not afraid of you,” I yelled, my voice echoing down the tunnel.

  It was silent.

  I took several deep breaths to calm myself and then stepped forward, one foot at a time, my hands ready to strike. Each step calculated, my eyes rapidly scanned the darkness for movement. I reached the gate.

  I pushed on it, the hinge creaking as it opened. I stopped, not even daring to take a breath. There was no sound in response.

  I took a few more steps into the main tunnel, feeling along the side until my hand found an intact bottle. I picked it up and held it above my head like a bat, ready to strike if my attacker returned.

  I paused after every step, assuming that each side tunnel had someone ready to jum
p out at me.

  When my eyes could make out the faint line of light from the cellar doors in the distance, I started running, my legs pumping with every stride as I got closer.

  I burst through the cellar doors into the cool air.

  The lack of activity I had experienced at the winery when I first entered the cellar had been replaced with commotion. Dean’s sheriff’s car was outside the cellar door with the lights flashing red and blue onto the hill. He stood behind his open door with his gun drawn. “Freeze.”

  I jumped and put my arms up, my right hand still holding the bottle.

  “Katie? What are you doing?” said Dean as he lowered his gun. “Are you okay? You’re bleeding.”

  “Someone was trying to kill me,” I said in a breathless voice as I lowered my arms. “Did you get my note?”

  “Yes, and then I got a call from Vanessa that someone was in her wine cellar.”

  “Yes,” I took a few unsteady steps toward Dean. “Someone was in there and they were throwing bottles at me.”

  “Stay here.” Dean held his gun in front of him and opened the cellar door, disappearing inside.

  I leaned against his patrol car, every muscle in my body tingling with adrenaline.

  Dean returned with his gun in one hand and his flashlight in the other. “There’s no one in there, but that place is a mess. Did you do that?”

  “No, I told you. Someone was throwing bottles at me.”

  “What’s that one?” Dean pointed to the bottle in my right hand.

  I looked at the bottle. “I picked it up at the end to use as a weapon. In case they attacked me.”

  “Detective Dean,” a female voice called from the side of the winery. “Did you catch who was in my cellar?”