“What about you? Are you afraid of nakedness?”
Marco shrugged. “What can I tell you? Simon and I met at a circle.”
“He means group therapy,” Simon interrupted.
“Sí.”
“I thought you met at a fashion show,” Nikki said.
“We’ve always told a lie about how we really met. It is called nudophobia. The thing that we have. The, uh, issue,” Simon replied.
“Oh my God. I wonder what the Guru Sansibaba would say.” She looked at Marco and placed her hands on her hips. “Crazy. And, weren’t you the one who just told me to go out and live my life with passion? You two are nuts.”
Simon’s cell rang. He looked at the incoming call. “It’s that Janie girl again. Shit.”
“Give me the key. We’ll talk about this later.” Nikki grabbed it from Simon’s hand and unlocked the door.
She walked inside the room, which was lit by candles. It looked like a pile of towels was bundled up in the corner by the French doors, which were closed, making the room quite dark. She could see the back of Georges’ head. “Georges?” Nothing. “Um, Georges? Time to go. Wake up.” She clapped her hands. “Big night, my friend. You’re late.” No reply. She took another step closer and saw that Georges had dropped what looked to be an almost full glass of red wine on the floor. Maybe he’d grabbed a bottle of the wine he’d wanted so badly at the restaurant before coming over to the spa and gone ahead with a precelebration. “Georges, let’s go. Hustle. Move out. Wake up. Alrighty, then.”
Just reach out and shake him on the shoulder. No biggie. It’s only a naked man in a bathtub. That’s all. It’s not as if she’d never seen a naked man before. Well, it had been some time. But it wasn’t like her two pals, who had nakedness phobia. What a weird thing. Nudophobia? Please! Who knew there was such a thing? Take a step closer. There are bubbles. That was a good thing. A naked man in bubbles. All she had to do was tap on his shoulder, shake him a bit maybe. “Georges,” she said louder.
“What’s he doing, Nikki?” Simon asked from behind the door.
“I don’t know. He’s sleeping.”
“Wake him up,” Marco said.
“I’m trying.” Just go for it. If his thingy comes into view, well, it is only an appendage. Right? Yes. Nikki walked around to the front of Georges. Oh, no. “Georges?” she said, only this time her voice was small and came out sounding distant, almost outside of herself. But she knew he wouldn’t be answering. She closed her eyes and blinked a few times to try and focus, to see if what she was viewing was real. It was.
She ran out of the room, bile burning the back of her throat. Simon caught her as she started to sink to the floor. “Goldilocks? Honey? What is it?”
She faced her friends and somehow choked out the words. “He’s not asleep. He’s been shot to death.”
Pampering and Sofia Rosé
Everyone deserves a little pampering at times, and one of the nicest things Marco might suggest doing for yourself or a loved one is running a grapeseed bath. Grapeseed oil can be found at many grocery stores and in your local health food market. Add a couple of tablespoons to your bath with your favorite aromatherapy oil—lavender for relaxing, grapefruit for revitalizing, and ylang-ylang for a little boost in the love life department. Pour yourself a nice cool glass of rosé and enjoy the softening properties of grapeseed. One of Nikki’s favorite rosés comes from the Niebaum-Coppola Winery. It is the Sofia Rosé, which is perfect for enjoying while taking a grapeseed bath on a summer day. The wine is delicate and sensual, at the same time being dry in style yet refreshing and juicy, making it a romantic, versatile wine.
Chapter 4
It was Marco who dialed 911. Simon paced across the slate tiles that covered the spa floors, completely beside himself, and it was Nikki who had to pull him together.
“Stop this. Stop it,” Nikki told him. “We need to sit down and relax. You could be contaminating evidence.”
Simon halted and gave her a hard stare, hands on hips. “Oh my God. There was a murderer here. Walking the hall. What if he’s still here? What if he comes and kills all of us? Oh, shit. We have to get out of here now. We have to get everyone off the vineyard and out of here. He could be lurking, waiting to attack his next victim.”
Nikki placed a hand on his shoulder and almost forcefully pushed him down atop the waiting area’s purple velvet sofa. “The murderer is probably long gone. The spa isn’t huge. There are what, ten treatment rooms and a locker area? Anyway, my guess is that whoever killed Georges didn’t travel through the spa. The French doors leading to the verandah were closed, but I’ll bet that’s how the killer got in.”
“Then he’d have to have a key to the place,” Simon said.
“Not necessarily. I know that Georges has been here a few times in the bath treatment. Do you know if he usually keeps the doors open?” Nikki asked.
Simon and Marco shrugged. “It is hard to say,” Marco said.
“Okay, but the bath treatment room was located where it is and on the second floor for a reason. When you guys designed it, it was with the mindset that whoever was in there taking a bath could keep the doors open and look out on the vineyard,” Nikki said.
“That is true,” Simon replied.
“Okay, so that’s established. I’ll bet that the doors were opened by Georges when he first settled into the bath. Maybe Charlotte knows. She might have opened them herself.”
“She is gone for the day,” Marco answered. “She left saying that she had another commitment and that she’d stayed overtime waiting for Mr. Debussey. I couldn’t stop her. I told her to go and that we would manage taking care of Mr. Debussey.”
“How do you think the killer got in? There’s no staircase leading up there, and to go through the spa, someone would have likely seen him or her,” Simon said.
“I’m not sure,” Nikki replied. “There’s a trellis out there. I don’t know. The police will figure it out I’m sure. But I don’t think you need to worry, Simon. It’s unlikely that whoever killed Georges is a serial killer.”
“How do you know?” Simon asked.
Marco had gone and retrieved a bottle of Zinfandel. He brought back three glasses and was behind the counter uncorking the bottle. They all needed something to calm the nerves. Nikki doubted the liquid grape would do the trick. Not after what she’d seen. A tranquilizer, maybe, but a glass of red wine? Doubtful. Besides what the hell kind of wine could be paired with murder? Oh, brother, she was losing it, to even think such a bizarre thought at a time like this.
Nikki fiddled with her pearl earring, twisting it as she spoke. “I know because of my aunt. She’s a former homicide detective with the LAPD.” Nikki glanced over at Marco. “As much as I know everyone would care for a glass of wine, we probably should hold off on it, Marco. The police will take note of that.”
Simon sucked in a deep breath. “Right. The cop, your aunt. The one who raised you. Oh, no! And, the cops will be here.” He put his face in his palms and shook. “This isn’t good. We were all here. What if they think one of us did it?”
Nikki placed a hand on his back. “They’ll question us, but we all know none of us did it. I know enough about investigations to guess that the police won’t be targeting us. We barely knew Georges. I mean, I suppose out of the three of us, I knew him the best. But when it comes to killers, Aunt Cara filled me in, and from what I remember, when someone is, um, shot”—she gulped—“in the head like that, it is usually a crime of passion, and God knows, I liked Georges fine, but trust me fellas, there was no passion going on there.”
Two uniformed deputy sheriffs entered the spa. Nikki glanced at Simon. Oh no. He was going to cry. His blue eyes were as big as saucers. She nudged Marco, who took notice of his partner’s trembling lip and grabbed his hand. Simon sighed and sucked back his emotion.
“We received a 911 call.”
Nikki stood and walked over to the deputies. She told them what she’d discovered and where they cou
ld find the body. They told her to have a seat. It wasn’t long before she heard their radios from down the hall confirming her report, and it didn’t take much longer for more sheriff ’s deputies to come rolling in, along with what had to be the detective on the case.
Talk about Mr. Cool. Wow! The detective coming through the front doors didn’t take his dark sunglasses off until after speaking with one of the deputies and making his way over to the three of them, still seated and not saying a word, as they’d been instructed. One of the larger, more intimidating of the deputies had been babysitting them, and they weren’t about to move.
The detective didn’t just walk on over, he had a kind of rock-star strut. Yeah, definitely. He looked to be about six feet, maybe fortysomething, and all muscle, showing through his fitted T-shirt underneath a caramel-colored suede coat and a pair of—well, only one way of putting it—ass huggin’ jeans. When he took off his glasses, his eyes were the color of jade, intensely contrasted by his mulatto coloring. He was Lenny Kravitz and Matthew McConaughey all rolled into one. Nikki was sure she heard both of her gay friends gasp. She herself felt a bit winded.
“Miss, gentlemen, I’m Detective Jonah Robinson of the Santa Rosa Sheriff’s Department.”
No one said anything for a few seconds, as if in awe of the detective. Nikki finally spoke up. “Hello, um, I’m Nikki Sands and this is Marco Contiello and Simon Malveaux. They run the spa here.”
“Miss Sands, you found the body?” he asked in a gravelly, low voice.
“Yes. That’s correct.”
“Okay. Here’s what we need to do. Miss Sands, why don’t you come with me outside here, and answer some questions.” He looked at Goliath, still standing guard. “Deputy, talk with Mr. Malveaux here and I’ll have Detective DeVoe in to speak with Mr. Contiello. I’ll also need a list of everyone who works at the spa, the names and places where the guests who were here today can be located, and we’ll have to get all employees here at the hotel and on the vineyard into the station for interviews. I will walk the grid after I speak with Ms. Sands. Rope off the area outside the room as well as inside the spa.”
“I can get you those names,” Simon chimed in.
“Good. Was there anyone else in the spa that you know of when the body was discovered?”
“No,” Marco replied. “Charlotte, the therapist who ran Mr. Debussey’s bath, waited awhile, but finally left when he didn’t get out. She said that she had to leave for a prior commitment.”
“I’ll need her statement,” Detective Robinson replied. “Along with all of the other information I mentioned. Miss Sands.” He put his sunglasses back on. “Follow me, please.”
They stepped outside the spa and walked around the length of the pool. The place that only hours earlier had bustled with guests was empty, no one lingering there.
They walked past the steam room and the cascading waterfall connected to a large water wheel that continually spun around, giving the area a rustic look. Nikki followed him back to the open garden area where guests would normally come to eat breakfast, read a book, or linger over a glass of wine while waiting for their spa treatments. Now, the place was deserted. In the back of Nikki’s mind, she couldn’t help wondering about what might be going on over at the restaurant. Certainly the police were there as well.
“Have a seat.” He motioned to one of the wrought iron chairs next to the outdoor fireplace. She did as he asked. He sat down across from her and crossed his legs, leaning back in his chair, his “all business” demeanor now more relaxed. Maybe this was his game. She knew all about the various tactics cops used, from Aunt Cara. Detective Robinson probably liked to get his “suspects” comfortable by appearing relaxed, nonthreatening. Nikki knew it often worked. Many times Aunt Cara had told her that a perp would screw up just as he got relaxed and tired enough with the chitchat he or she was having with the interviewing cop. Thing was, Robinson didn’t need to make Nikki comfortable. She’d only found Georges, not murdered him. “I’ve heard about you,” Robinson said.
Now, that was a new and different tactic. It almost sounded like a pickup line. “Really? And, why is that?”
“You’re the lady they call Napa’s Nancy Drew.”
“Funny.” She crossed her arms.
“Right. You know, since I’ve heard of you and know all about your little hobby, I’m gonna ask you to mind your business on this one. I’m not a small-town cop, Miss Sands. I worked the streets in Houston and I don’t want you getting involved in playing your sleuthing game. You might wind up in some serious trouble if you start messing behind the scenes with my case.”
“Excuse me?” Wait, wait. Shouldn’t he be asking questions about the murder instead of giving her grief? Hell, how did he know she didn’t do it—Mr. Big Time Cop, from Houston. “Is that a threat? What do you mean, wind up in serious trouble? I didn’t do a damn thing.”
“Take it as this: you’ve been warned. Now, why don’t you go on and tell me how you found Mr. Debussey and what you know about the vic. I know you know the lingo, ’cause like I said, I know about you.”
A shiver didn’t just slither down her spine but crept like a spider ready to bite. She shifted in her chair. Had this pompous ass of a detective threatened her?
He took off his sunglasses and stared at her with those icy eyes—no longer the color of jade—until she started talking. She told him everything she knew. How she discovered Georges. How she’d been to see him earlier in the day to discuss the wine list, and how she thought Georges Debussey was a decent guy if a bit eccentric, even a hot-head at times.
“Nothing else you can tell me then?” Detective Robinson asked for the sixth time. “About his friends, who his lovers might have been, his business partners? Come on, you said that you dealt with him, you must know something more about the man. Obviously Derek Malveaux had gone into business with him by bringing him here to open his restaurant. Did they get along?”
“Who doesn’t Derek get along with? Of course they did.” She tightened her arms around herself. She didn’t tell Robinson about the book Derek and Georges worked on together, or for that matter, her part in writing the notes and putting them in order. If he was such a big-time detective, let him figure it out. It wasn’t as if it would have anything to do with the murder anyway. “As far as I knew, the partnership between them was smooth sailing. Derek gave Georges carte blanche with the restaurant. Basically, Derek fronted the money to have the restaurant and the rest of the resort area built. Georges paid rent on the restaurant and used his name for promotion. I know that Simon and Marco also have the same arrangement with Derek in regard to the hotel and spa. Derek runs the winery and vineyard. He stays involved, but he knows that the people working for him, like Georges, were . . . are competent. I never heard of any hassles between them.”
“Uh-huh. And, what about Simon Malveaux and his friend, Marco Contiello?” He uncrossed his legs and leaned in, as if ready to force some hard information.
Nikki wished he’d put his glasses back on. Those eyes had gone from mesmerizing to disconcerting. “They didn’t have much contact with Georges. I mean, the restaurant, as you’ve seen, is a separate entity from the hotel and spa. Georges did his thing. Simon and Marco theirs. Simon runs the spa. Marco oversees the hotel operations. I believe the only contact they have with the restaurant is making reservations for guests.”
“How many rooms are in the hotel and also in the spa?” he asked.
“Thirty rooms in the hotel, and ten treatment rooms in the spa, along with a locker room,” Nikki replied.
“The hotel is at full capacity this weekend, I assume?”
“Yes. Well, I did hear that one couple didn’t make it because they missed their flight and were due in tomorrow, and another couple left because of a family emergency. So there are twenty-eight rooms occupied.”
“Are they all couples?”
“I wouldn’t know. You’d have to ask Marco. I do know there are no children. That’s the policy.”
Or was that something caught in his eye? Did he actually wink? Nah.
“And as for you? Any problems with Mr. Debussey?”
“No.”
He went over all of it again until Nikki wanted to scream at him and pull her hair out.
“All right. I think we’re done for now. But I know where to find you, and I know you know the protocol. Stay close to home. We may need to talk again. Soon.”
“Sure.”
Detective Robinson stood up and started back toward the spa. He turned around before he reached the corner, and put on his glasses. “Remember what I told you. Your name is Nikki, not Nancy. I hope you really told me all that you know.”
She smiled at him. A sarcastic smile, to be sure, but a smile. Okay, so maybe there were a few things that slipped her mind when speaking with Detective Robinson. Like the fact that she was wondering about how close Janie and Georges were, and the nature of the relationship between Georges and Lauren—if it really was all just business. Oh, and there was also another small tidbit tucked back in her memory that she hadn’t mentioned to Robinson. The designer who’d tried so hard to make the restaurant look like a Tuscan villa and who Nikki thought only a week ago could snap under Georges’ pressure. Had she? Hey, if Detective Robinson was such a big-city cop and with it, then he’d find out all of this info on his own. Nikki would’ve freely given it up, but one thing a man—any man—should never say to a woman is, mind your own business. Please. I’ll mind my own business like an old woman with new neighbors next door.
Chapter 5
Nikki walked up her front porch steps to find Andrés seated on her wicker outdoor sofa with Ollie, the vineyard Rhodesian Ridgeback, lying at his feet. Well, in reality Ollie had been Derek’s dog, until Nikki had come on board. Now the dog spent his time between master and mistress. The caramel-colored beast thumped his tail at the sight of her, and Andrés stood. He walked over to her and pulled her close. “I heard about what happened. When I tried to come onto the vineyard tonight to meet you for dinner, the police had everything roped off.”
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