Corked by Cabernet

by Michele Scott

  Alyssa stopped by with Petie to see what the dream board thing was all about. Nikki had mentioned it to her in the hospital. Everyone turned and looked as they walked into the room. Simon and Marco saw that Petie had a cast on and immediately came over.

  “What happened?” Simon asked.

  Alyssa told him about the unfortunate jungle gym incident.

  “That’s terrible. Poor boy.” Marco’s accent sounded even more charming when directed at a little guy. Marco kissed Petie’s cheek and retrieved an ink marker off one of the tables. “Can I draw something on the cast?” he asked Alyssa.

  “Of course.”

  Marco drew a smiling monkey and signed his name. Petie watched, curious as he drew it, and started laughing along with the adults when he was finished and then made goofy monkey faces.

  Simon then took over and drew an elephant next to the monkey. This was a big hit, too.

  “This looks interesting.” Alyssa nodded in the direction of the room.

  It was pretty strange. Here were adults flipping through magazines, writing down affirmations on note cards, and cutting and pasting their “wants and desires” onto their poster boards. It looked like a preschool classroom only with bigger people. Petie wanted down from his mom’s arms and was ready to charge toward the art supplies.

  “I don’t think so.” Alyssa pulled him in tighter. “I better get him home. I wanted to see it for myself, though. Not such a bad idea. Maybe I should do one.”

  “You should,” Simon said. “It’s so much fun. We’re all really exploring our creative sides.”

  Marco nodded. “It is a good time. Come and join us.”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t. I should get Petie down for a nap. It’s been a hard day for him.”

  “Wait a minute,” Simon said. “Do you have magazines and markers at home?”

  “I’m a mother. I have both,” Alyssa said.

  Simon went back to his table and brought over a rolled-up poster board. “Maybe while he’s taking a nap, or even another time, you can do one for yourself.”

  “Thanks, Simon. I think I will.” Alyssa took the poster and tucked it under her free arm.

  “What are you going to put on your dream board?” Nikki asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose for starters a heart—a healthy one for Petie.”

  Petie pointed to his heart and said, “Heart.”

  “You’re so smart,” Nikki told him, choking back some emotion. He was so sweet.

  “Then who knows? Maybe a mansion on the ocean.” Alyssa laughed. “And a photo of some hot guy.”

  Nikki laughed. “Who do you think is hot?”

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of into rock stars.” She laughed.

  “Oh honey, who isn’t?” Simon said.

  “You know who looks like a rock star? That cutie Detective Robinson. He’s soooo sexy. Nikki even said once that he looks like Lenny Kravitz.”

  “That is true.” A vision of Detective Robinson came to mind and Nikki had a lightbulb moment. “Hey, what are you doing Sunday night?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. At home with this guy.” She tickled Petie’s tummy.

  “No. You’re not. I’m having a little dinner party at my place. You and Petie are coming.” She turned to Simon and Marco. “And so are you two.”

  “Oh goodie. I love dinner parties,” Simon said. “They’re so chic.”

  “We should get back to our projects. Nikki, you’ll join us, no?” Marco asked.

  “Sure.”

  The boys said their good-byes to Alyssa and Petie and went back to their table.

  “You’re doing a dinner party while trying to run this charade?” Alyssa asked.

  “I’ll burn off some steam with some friends. Besides, the members are on their own for dinner that night.”

  “Great. Count us in. I better get going. Looks like you’re being summoned.”

  Nikki spotted Alan motioning for her to come over. What now? She said good-bye to Alyssa and Petie and made her way over to the great guru, rubbing her hands together. She knew it might wind up being a lot on her plate, but it would be worth it because not only could she be good at playing detective, she might also make a decent matchmaker.

  “HI, Nikki. We were concerned about you. We started on the dream boards about an hour ago,” Alan said.

  “I’m sorry. My friend Alyssa’s little boy broke his arm and I met her at the hospital. He has some health problems and she needed the support.”

  “You’re a good friend,” Alan said.

  “I did what anyone else would do.”

  “No. Not everyone else is kind, and I can see that you are kind and always concerned about others.”

  For some reason, Alan was making her nervous. What was it? She couldn’t pinpoint it, but it was there. “Thanks. Well, is there anything you’d like me to do?”

  “No. I don’t think so. You’re more than welcome to do your own board or see what others have done and help them put their intentions out into the universe.”

  “Right.” Had these people forgotten that a man had been murdered less than twenty-four hours ago? Nikki moved away from him quickly. What was bothering her about him? Was it the attitude?

  She decided to pass on the board, and headed on over to where Simon sat flapping his lips with Rose Pearlman, Eli Sansi, and Kurt Kensington. Now there sat an interesting group of folks. Wonder if Simon still had his radar on?

  She pulled a chair up to the table.

  “Oh, Snow White, good. You’re joining us. Poor Petie and his mommy.” He frowned. “I hope Alyssa really does do her own board. It’ll be good therapy for her. She needs some mommy time. So, we were just sharing our dream boards with one another.”

  “Great.” Nikki mustered a smile.

  “I’m going first.” Simon stood and held his board up to the group. “This here is my dream home with Marco.”

  Kind of surprising to see it wasn’t set amongst the vineyard. Simon had cut and pasted on a photo of an ubermodern apartment.

  “See here. It’s in Manhattan.” He pointed to a view through a window of Central Park. “And we would shop at all the best stores with our baby, right here.”

  Nikki’s jaw dropped. Baby? Simon pointed to a cherubic-looking baby.

  “You want a baby?” Rose asked, sounding as astonished as Nikki felt.

  “Of course. What? Just because we’re gay, you don’t think we might want children?”

  “I do think that a mother and a father should be involved. Not two daddies,” Rose replied, staring him down like a grizzly bear readying for the kill.

  Simon’s eye back was just as evil. Oh, no. This could be trouble. “Let me tell you what children need . . .”

  Nikki interrupted, hoping to head off a full escalation here. She stood and put a hand on Simon’s back. “Children need love, and I am sure someone as spiritually devoted as Mrs. Pearlman would agree.” Nikki flashed a huge smile.

  Rose Pearlman recoiled some and looked to be pouting, but she shut her trap and that was the outcome they were all looking for.

  “How about you, Kurt, is it?” Nikki looked straight at the man with the crew cut and beady ice green eyes that seemed to sear through her. She could see how Simon found him attractive because the man was edgy—almost intimidating—and Simon had a tendency to be attracted to the intense types. Lucky for him, Marco could be intense but balanced it out with his charm and good nature. He certainly didn’t have that edge this guy did. “Let’s see your dream board.” It was really strange to be asking grown men to see their dream boards. Maybe she should have called it something a bit more masculine—vision board, maybe?

  Kurt hesitated, then slowly stood and picked his board up from the seat next to him. There was an audible gasp. Even Nikki caught herself.

  The only word to describe Kurt’s board was “violent.”

  No one spoke for a few seconds.

  Once again, it was Rose Pearlman who took a stab
at it. “What the hell is that?”

  Kurt glared at her. “My board,” he muttered.

  “I understand that. But what does it represent? I understood his,” she said, gesturing at Simon, “although I still think he and his partner, or whatever they call each other, are nuts for wanting a kid.”

  Simon tensed. Nikki grabbed and squeezed his arm.

  Kurt shifted his weight to one leg. “I want to be a novelist like Stephen King, man. I want to write horror books and flicks.”

  Nikki studied the board. It had images of people on the board, but then next to them, Kurt had written words like, “monster,” “slaughtered,” “kill.” One of the photos was . . . Wait a minute . . . She squinted. “Excuse me, but that looks like Iwao Yamimoto,” she said.

  Kurt shrugged. “Maybe it is.” He smiled.

  Like ice being dropped down the inside of her shirt, Nikki’s body grew freezing-ass cold. “That’s wrong.”

  “Why?” Kurt asked.

  Simon and Rose Pearlman looked at each other, and this time it wasn’t with mutual dislike, but mutual fear.

  “Well, because the man was just murdered last night. That’s why. And you have a photo of him and next to it you wrote ‘slaughtered.’ Don’t you think that’s wrong?” Nikki asked. She wasn’t afraid of this bully.

  “How do you know that Iwao Yamimoto was not a terrorist and that a hit man from the CIA needed to take him down? Huh? Have you ever thought of that?” Kurt stared at her.

  Was this guy serious? “A terrorist? He was Japanese,” Nikki replied.

  “Do you know that for sure? Maybe he was Chinese.”

  No one said a word. Then Kurt Kensington started cracking up. “Oh, my God, you people don’t think I’m serious, do you? I told you that my dream and goal is to be a bestselling horror or even espionage-type author. And I want to write horror movies. Freddie Kruger type. That’s all there is to it. Sorry you don’t find my humor amusing.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.” Nikki figured at this point she had nothing to lose by being straightforward. She had witnesses in case the guy went berserk or she was later found dead—not a comforting thought—but at least Simon and Rose Pearlman would know whom to point a finger at. “By the way, were you the guest who brought down Mr. Yamimoto’s suitcase to the front desk this morning?”

  Kurt didn’t say anything for a second, but rather glowered at her. “Yes. So? The hotel obviously mixed our bags up.”

  “Why did you wait until the morning? You must have needed something from your bag last night, I would think.”

  “I had two bags. One I carry books in, like the one Mr. Yamimoto had. Last night we got in late and I didn’t exactly feel like reading. I discovered it this morning when I went to get one of my books out.”

  “You actually carry an entire suitcase filled with books? And didn’t you realize you had two of them in your room?” Nikki questioned.

  Everyone at the table watched the ping-pong dialogue go on between them, heads flipping from one person to the next.

  “I told you, I’m working on being an author. As far as the two look-alike suitcases, I can answer that. When I checked in, I asked the bellhop to bring my things up. I wasn’t in my room when he did so, so he set them in the closet. I assume that’s your protocol.”

  It was. Nikki nodded.

  “Okay, then we went out for the train ride. I never changed so I never went into the closet. When we came back from the ride, I spotted the bag downstairs in the lobby set down by those palm tree plants you have, and that was where I’d set my things when I checked in. I figured the bellhop forgot the smaller bag. I picked it up and brought it into my room.”

  “What, and you fell asleep with your clothes on then?” She wasn’t buying this at all.

  “If you want to know, Ms. Sands, I sleep in the buff.”

  She wrinkled her nose, but remained quick on her toes. “Okay, then, what about the bag itself? A bag filled with books I would think would be pretty heavy. Couldn’t you tell by the weight you had a different bag?”

  “It was late. I’m strong. I work out a lot. I don’t think about a pound or two here and there. Are you finished questioning me, Detective Sands? Or would you like to come to my room and see all of my books?”

  Simon looked over at her warningly. Going alone to Kurt’s room was definitely not something she desired to do. “I believe you, Mr. Kensington, and trust me, I’m no detective.” But the police might think it was odd. The first chance she had to speak with Robinson she would be sure and get this idiot on the detective’s radar.

  “Call me Kurt, please.”

  “Kurt, then.” She tried to smile, but it was impossible. This guy epitomized creepiness and again Nikki had to wonder how he’d become a part of the S.E.E. group. She needed to get ahold of those applications that Hayden had told her about and find out what she could dig up on Kurt Kensington because at that moment all she could hear in her mind was David Byrne of the Talking Heads belting out “Psycho Killer” and the part where he sings Run run away.

  Well, that was exactly what Nikki desired to do. Get away from Kurt the psycho.

  Fifteen

  STILL shaken after the dream board session by Kurt Kensington, Nikki had an hour and a half to get prepared for the winemaking event she was to host. Not a lot of time and still quite a bit to do. She needed to get ahold of Derek. What time was it in New York? Almost eight. He was probably at dinner. She also really needed to speak with Mizuki and see how the woman was faring. The lady knew more than she’d been able to tell Nikki. If only there was a way to really communicate with her.

  She’d try. Sooner or later she’d get ahold of Derek. It wasn’t as if he could change things here anyway, and he’d worry needlessly. He needed to work out the business between him and old man Vicente and she didn’t want to distract him. Oh boy, though, if he caught whiff of what was going on around here without her being the one to tell him, she knew there’d be hell to pay.

  What to do?

  Her question was answered when she spotted Robinson coming down the stairs from the top room suites.

  “Hey,” she called out.

  Robinson turned to her as he slipped his aviator sunglasses over his bad boy green eyes, same color green as the ivy that grew up the side of the walls of the hotel. He nodded in her direction and smoothly moved down the stairs. “Hey, yourself.”

  “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “Not great. I’ve got about a hundred-plus tourists who were on that train last night in different cars and several of them have plans to leave today. I’ve got as many men as I can conducting interviews and working on this thing. I’ve got my boss breathing down my back and I was upstairs trying to get something out of that geisha of Yamimoto’s. I tell you my head is pounding.”

  “Geisha? She’s not a geisha!”

  “Isn’t that what they call them in Japan? I don’t think it’s ‘hooker.’” He looked at her over his shades.

  She took a step back. “No. She’s not a hooker or a geisha.”

  “What the hell is she then?”

  “I don’t know.” God! Why did he fluster her? “Girlfriend?”

  He laughed at that. “Yeah. No. Not a girlfriend, Sands. I’ll give you ‘sweetly paid mistress.’”

  “Did you confirm then that he had a wife?”

  “Yes, he does. But she’s loco in the cabeza, like kamikaze style.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She lives in some kind of mental institution there in Japan. From what I’ve been able to find out, the poor woman barely knows her name, much less who her husband is or was. She tried to slit her wrists a half dozen times before Yamimoto had her committed.”

  “Huh.”

  “Huh, what?” Robinson asked.

  “I don’t know, just, huh. I got the impression that Mizuki really loved Iwao.”

  Robinson crossed his arms and rocked back onto his cowboy boots. “Mizuki and Iwao? When did you
get on a first-name basis with the vic and his, uh, mistress?”

  “I did help coordinate this thing and so it’s kind of natural that I would call people by their first names, not like you, the cop. Everyone is a last name to you. Even me.”

  “Even you? What am I supposed to call you?”

  “My name might be good for starters. We are friends, sort of.”

  He pushed the shades back up onto the bridge of his nose. “I suppose we are sort of friends. So, friend. My gut says you got some info for me because I’m not buying the deal about you being the coordinator and having to get to know everyone on a first-name basis. What can you tell me?”

  She breathed a deep sigh. “I don’t know much from Iwao’s friend. She doesn’t speak any English.”

  “I noticed. An interpreter was supposed to meet me here, but hasn’t shown. I’ll have that guy’s tail when I get ahold of him. She gave me nada. All I know is she ain’t the wife. You got more?”

  “I know that Iwao Yamimoto’s nephew Jen Yamimoto dated Sierra Sansi and the breakup was ugly.”

  “I think we better sit down and do some talking.”

  She checked her watch. “I don’t have much time right now. I have to get ready for this winemaking event I’m supposed to do for this group.”

  “Really, and how does winemaking enlighten?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Why don’t I help you set up and you give me your scoopage?”

  “I could use the help and I suppose I have gathered some scoopage together.”

  “Cool,” he replied. “After you, Sands.”

  ROBINSON helped bring in boxes of wine for her while she set up the glasses inside the tasting room, which usually just smelled of cedar wood and wine but right now she could smell musk mixed in—it had to be Robinson. Simon and Marco would be bringing in the food shortly for her. They were doing appetizers for the evening to go with the various wines she’d chosen.