“That’s what I’m talking about. Little gems like that.” He pointed a finger at her.
She saluted him and he shook his head walking—sauntering—over to Alan Sansi. It was strange, she knew it was—a man had just been murdered and she felt rotten about that, but she couldn’t help feeling a rush of adrenaline when Robinson asked for her help. Who would have ever thunk it? Things had certainly changed. Then again, things always change. Nothing ever stays the same. Jeez, now she could probably sell that to a ton of people and make millions just like Alan Sansi, who was now standing in the corner of the train being questioned by one intense detective.
Seven
BY the time Nikki and the S.E.E. members made it back to the hotel, she was exhausted but still running on adrenaline. Her mind raced, trying hard to recall her entire day, everyone she’d checked in, all the interesting nuances she’d learned, and the initial impressions she’d gleaned.
Alan asked for everyone to join him briefly in the room Nikki had allocated as a conference room. There were moans and groans from some, especially Rose Pearlman.
“I think this is insane to stay here, Ruben. There’s a killer on the loose and I don’t see the sense in staying.”
“Rose, we’re fine. We aren’t hurt and I don’t know if you heard that Detective Robinson say that no one is allowed to leave the county. Without notifying him, anyway. We aren’t going anywhere.”
Robinson had asked everyone to stay in town until he’d had a chance to go over their statements. Nikki was okay with it because she couldn’t see herself in any danger. She also didn’t believe that anyone else was in any real danger. Her aunt Cara, who had raised her, and was now a retired LAPD homicide detective, had taught her quite a bit about the criminal mind and various psychoses that killers hid so well. Her sense was that someone had planned Iwao Yamimoto’s murder. The violent manner that he was killed in, from what she could tell, almost looked professional. Iwao had to have either been lured or planned to meet someone in that wine storage car; it wasn’t as if people went looking for it. As far as slitting someone’s throat? That tended to follow one of two trains of thought—no pun intended.
The first was that a true professional had done it. Even someone with links to organized crime. It was that type of brutality that organized criminals enjoyed inflicting. It made a statement to anyone who might have an idea as to why Iwao had been murdered—basically, keep your mouth shut. If Iwao was into sketchy activities or business dealings, and he had a partner or partners, and this was an organized crime hit, well . . . any associates would know to shut the hell up and back away quickly.
Thinking of shutting the hell up made Nikki glance around the room for Mrs. Yamimoto. She wasn’t there. What did that mean exactly? Sure, Nikki had not expected the wife to join the group. How were the cops handling her? Should she move her from their bedroom? Robinson didn’t say, only that he needed to get into the room in the morning. She wished she’d had more of an opportunity to speak to Robinson about her. Nikki knew that if Iwao Yamimoto’s death had been an organized killing, then there was someone or several people who knew why he’d been killed and what for. That first theory bothered her; could Mrs. Yamimoto be in any danger?
The mafia theory felt a bit off, but it was still a consideration. Granted she hadn’t learned much about Iwao Yamimoto in the short time she knew him, but he was a publisher, not a drug dealer or arms supplier. Or maybe he was? What was the saying? You couldn’t judge a book by its cover. Not only that, Iwao had turned from the goofy dogooder who thought highly of the Sansi system to a naysayer as soon as Alan turned his back. He’d quickly become a greedy money monger. She had to speak with Mrs. Yamimoto.
There were other angles to consider—maybe a vendetta. But why? Possible lust, murder for money, power . . . Oh, the options were plenty when it came to taking another person’s life.
And there was a third theory tucked way back in her mind. It was one that could mean there was more trouble brewing at Malveaux Estate, and that theory meant whoever had killed Iwao was completely deranged, and didn’t have much of a reason to kill other than for pleasure. Now, that type of person could have been anyone on the train. This wasn’t someone who was just a tad crazy, but a total nut case. And that type of person was never easy to weed out. Unfortunately, psychos didn’t hold up signs announcing their mental imbalance.
She’d have to listen and look hard as Robinson asked her to, to see if anyone fell into this category amongst the S.E.E. members. Spotting insanity was not easy because people with pathological personalities often appeared completely normal, even charming and likable. Nikki would have to dig out some of Aunt Cara’s old books on psychopaths versus sociopaths. The boxes full of books were still in the garage. When her aunt had retired, she’d let Nikki pick through the lot of the books before she carted them off for donation. Being that Nikki was an actress starring as a detective in a cop show that was pretty much pulled from the network before airing more than a season, she’d chosen a handful of books that, ironically enough, had proven handy over the past couple of years. Far handier for her as a winery manager than an actress.
If the psycho theory that Nikki wanted to shove back into the deep recesses of her mind was possible, then it could mean more trouble ahead for the members of S.E.E., Malveaux Estate, and herself. It could mean that one of the members was a good old-fashioned serial killer.
Nikki scanned the room again where everyone was settling into chairs waiting for Alan to say something soothing or earth-shattering—anything. From what she spotted, none of them looked like serial killers. Then again, what does a serial killer look like? Typically the guy, or occasionally gal, next door. Unremarkable. A chill went through her. Not a great thought.
Simon started a fire in the fireplace and the group seemed to divide into two categories—the group that sat stunned and silent and the group that chatted quietly about what had occurred that evening. Nikki had noticed that Sierra Sansi had been taken to her room by her mother. Sierra had been the first one to find Iwao, and even in her inebriated state, it had not only sobered her up but horrified her to the point of speechlessness. That was understandable.
Alan Sansi walked up to the front of the room and everyone stopped speaking in their hushed tones, all eyes on him. He clasped his hands together and looked skyward, then down at the floor, pacing back and forth for a minute before he ever spoke.
“Tonight a horrific event occurred. We lost a fellow human, a member of this program, and someone I considered a friend. Many of us here, I’m sure, want to go home, where things may feel safe to us. It’s comfortable at home. I want you to rest assured that Iwao is home. He followed the principles in S.E.E. He believed the philosophies, and knew they worked.” He took a deep breath.
Little did Alan know that Iwao thought it was all “horseshit.” Or maybe he did know? Oh, great. Nikki’s mind raced in circles. Why did Robinson have to ask her to look, listen, and learn? Who was she kidding? Even if Robinson hadn’t asked her to pay attention, she’d be doing exactly what she was doing now. Allowing her mind and theories to run away with her.
“Iwao would not want us to go home. He would want us to continue this journey. He chose his path, and possibly someone in this room was the catalyst to his achieving the end of this journey here on earth in his vessel of a human body.”
Oh, no, no. He was not going to tell this group that Iwao Yamimoto had decided and wanted to die by the sword and whoever had done this to him was simply the messenger, now was he?
“Whether or not the person who took Iwao’s life will be revealed is going to be his or her decision along with the decision of those who are trying to find the truth. It all works in accordance to the laws of the universe. What I do know is that we are all meant to stay this week and learn from one another. There is meaning behind what happened tonight, and together we will find it. I plan to continue this journey tomorrow morning at breakfast with everyone. I believe Ms. Sands has a hike pl
anned afterward.” He looked at Nikki.
She nodded and tried to smile for the morose group. “Yes. I’ve planned for us to set out at ten o’clock. We’ll be hiking the Ritchey Canyon Trail and Upper Ritchey Canyon Trail, which is about four point two miles and it makes for a moderate hike. It’s located in the Napa Valley State Park and there are redwood groves and all sorts of gorgeous flowers and plant life. We may even see some deer or fox. It is very nice.” It sure was hard to play touring hostess with a murder in the back of the mind.
That got some oohs and ahs and a groan. Nikki knew that the unhappy member could be none other than Mrs. Pearlman.
“Nikki and Hayden have arranged for a picnic, and our discussions will take place out there. There is no better place to feel your soul soar than out in nature. We have a free time scheduled for the afternoon, and then a wine tasting in the evening with a talk on how wines are created. Correct?”
“Yes. I’ll be teaching the class tonight as our vintner is currently on vacation with her family in France.”
She couldn’t believe how this was all playing out. It was weird and kind of disconcerting. It almost had that “But the show must go on” feel to it. Yet she really did believe Alan was sincere. And in a way, the man was right. No one could do anything for Iwao now. It was terrible, but what could be done other than to achieve some kind of justice? And as always, Nikki had a passion for justice. Maybe she’d inherited it from Aunt Cara, maybe it had been because of some of the cruelties she suffered as a child, but whatever the reason, she did believe Iwao Yamimoto’s murderer needed to be found and brought to justice.
Eight
SURE, it was late, and Nikki had pretty much had enough of the night, but dammit, she had to go and check on Mrs. Yamimoto. It was the right thing to do. It troubled her that not one of the S.E.E. members had mentioned her. True, Mrs. Pearlman had asked where she was, but Alan had shushed her and said that the woman Iwao had been with was not a S.E.E. member and should be left alone by the group.
“Oh, so she can go home, and we can’t?” Mrs. Pearlman stood.
“That is up to the police, and Rose, I am not making you stay here. You are welcome to leave any time.”
Nikki witnessed Ruben tug on his wife’s sleeve, pulling Rose close, and delivering an earful. No one heard the exact words, but whatever he said was enough to silence the Oompa Loompa imitator, who quickly closed her mouth and sat down.
Leaving the meeting area, Nikki checked the time. Past midnight. Maybe she shouldn’t bother. What if the woman was asleep? Doubtful. A nice gesture of a pot of tea could be soothing. Oh, who was she kidding? Yes, she felt rotten for anyone who was in Mrs. Yamimoto’s situation—losing a spouse, especially in such a horrific way, had to be devastating, but even worse was knowing the killer got away with the crime. Nikki did not want to see that happen and she was sure neither did Iwao’s wife. She headed to the kitchen in the café and fixed a pot of Sleepytime tea.
Ten minutes later she stood in front of room twenty-three. The rooms were set up in sections at the hotel. Here were a few rooms on their own—cabin-like, and like this one, there were some that from the outside had the look of a town house, with one room being below the other. She had a fondness for this room. It had been her suite for several months after the fire. It was private, large, and comfortable. Nikki’s free hand shook as she rapped on the door. No one answered, and after a minute, she knocked again. Two thoughts ran through her mind—either the Mrs. had skipped wine country or she was asleep. She might have taken a sleep aid.
The room faced rows of Chardonnay grapes set on rolling hills, but tonight what Nikki noticed was the silence. Really noticed it. Sure, this location was always silent. It was the wine country. But it was the witching hour and dark, really dark. She should have grabbed Ollie before doing this. Just as she’d freaked herself out and was turning to hike back down the stairs, the door cracked and Nikki practically jumped out of her skin while trying to hang on to the hot carafe. This was why she’d never make a real detective—she knew how to wind herself up to the point that fear took over.
Her nerves settling, Nikki faced Mrs. Yamimoto, whose ivory face was tear and mascara stained. “Mrs. Yamimoto. I am so sorry to bother you. I brought you some tea.” She held out the carafe.
The woman shook her head. “No. No.”
“I understand. You don’t want the tea. I’ll leave you alone.” This had been a stupid and insensitive idea.
The woman took hold of Nikki’s sleeve and then bowed. Nikki did her best to bow back and then say good night. “I can leave the tea with you, Mrs. Yamimoto.”
“No, no.”
“Okay. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
Again the woman grabbed her sleeve. Did she want her to stay or go? “Do you speak English?”
“No English. No Mrs. Yamimoto.”
“Huh?”
She motioned Nikki into the room. She followed, set the tea down on the console where the hotel daily replaced both wineglasses and coffee mugs. She held up the carafe and Mrs. Yamimoto nodded. Nikki poured the tea and handed her the first cup, then motioned for them to sit down in two cushy, velvet-covered chairs in front of the fireplace.
“I can turn that on for you if you’d like,” Nikki said, a little louder and slower than normal, thinking maybe somehow the translation would get across. She realized by the look on the woman’s face that she wasn’t registering it. Nikki took it upon herself to light the gas fireplace and do it so that Mrs. Yamimoto could see for herself how to do it, for future reference. It was chilly in the room and even the warm earth tones on the walls seemed cooler than usual.
The recently widowed woman bowed at Nikki again. They both sat down. Now what?
Nikki made a gesture and touched the woman’s hand. “Mrs. Yamimoto, I am so sorry.”
She frowned. “No. No Mrs. Yamimoto.” She pointed to herself. “Mizuki.”
Nikki pointed back at her. “Mizuki?”
She smiled. “Mizuki.”
That was nice of her to want Nikki to call her by her first name. “Mizuki, I am so sorry for your loss.” How in the world was she going to talk to this woman, especially get any information out of her? “Have the police talked to you at all?”
Mizuki cocked her head.
Nikki made her fingers into imaginary guns. “Bang, bang. Police.”
“Oh, bang, bang. No.”
“Yeah, well,” Nicky struggled for something to say. She took a sip of her tea and stood. “I just wanted to bring you the tea.” She pointed to Mizuki’s mug. “Good night.”
Mizuki stood and held out her hand. “No. Uh.” She brought her hands up to her face as if she were searching for the words. “Jen.”
“Jen? What?”
“Jen. Jen. Sierra.”
“Sierra?” Now that caught Nikki’s attention and Mizuki had said it loud and clear. “Sierra Sansi?”
Mizuki nodded.
“Jen? Who is Jen?”
Mizuki held out both hands and waved them at Nikki. With frenetic movements, she opened up a laptop on the desk and motioned for Nikki to come over. She did. It took a couple of minutes for the laptop to warm up. Jen? What was she trying to say?
Once the computer was on, Mizuki opened a file of photos and clicked through several. Most of them were of Iwao in different locales, a few of them were of Mizuki. And then there were a couple of Iwao with a handsome young man. He had an athletic build, high checkbones, dark hair, and had to be related to Iwao because there was quite a resemblance to the dead man.
“Is this your son? Jen?” Nikki made a motion like she were rocking a baby. She pointed to Iwao, then Mizuki, then this man she called Jen.
Mizuki eyes grew big. “No Mrs. Yamimoto!”
Then it hit. Mizuki was not married to Iwao. Now things were coming together. She did look too young to be this Jen’s mother, but he was obviously Iwao’s son, and if Nikki had it right, she wanted her to contact him. He should know that his fat
her had been murdered. But what was this about Sierra Sansi?
“Mizuki. What about Sierra?”
Mizuki did a few more clicks on the computer screen, and there in a photo stood an unhappy, stern-looking Iwao, and this Jen hugging Sierra and planting a big kiss on her cheek.
Nine
AFTER leaving Mizuki’s suite, Nikki sprinted back to the house. What did this new information mean? Things were already getting messy and she knew she’d have to befriend Sierra for some answers. Did Mizuki think Sierra was connected to Iwao’s murder? Sierra had found him initially, but she didn’t strike Nikki as a brutal killer at all.
She stopped halfway to the house, breathing hard. The night air was crisp, and with only a sliver of a moon in the sky, stars twinkled like diamonds. She ran regularly but the day was catching up with her. Bending over with her hands on knees to catch her breath, she was caught off guard when she looked up. What the . . . Who was in her house? All the lights were on, blazing like headlights on a semi, and she’d been caught in them. Again—what the . . . She knew she’d only left the porch and family room lights on. Oh, no. What if Derek had somehow caught wind of all this and come home? No. That would be impossible. His flight was out of San Francisco at nine. Well, it’s true the murder had already gone down and they were being questioned around that time. Maybe Robinson had called him, or even Simon. He’d probably be pacing the floor and worried sick that she hadn’t shown up yet.
She picked up her pace again until she reached the front door and hesitated slightly before opening it. There was a killer on the loose. But it was highly unlikely he or she would turn on all the lights in the house. Plus, even though Ollie didn’t have a mean bone in his body, the sight of him was pretty intimidating. The UPS guy still didn’t believe that he was harmless. What the hell. She walked through the door and immediately knew that it wasn’t Derek awaiting her. She recognized the woodsy scent of Allure by Chanel.
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