by Ellen Crosby
“Uh—no thanks.” I swiped Eli’s coffee. “I could use a little caffeine.” I sipped it and gave it back. Something with lots of whipped cream and a shot of something cloyingly sweet. “Any coffee in that?”
“Bring your own next time.” He used his finger to wipe the place where I’d drunk. “We’d like you to have a look and see if you can get any idea about what’s been taken.”
I glanced around. My brother hadn’t been kidding about a first-class renovation. Redwood paneled walls and wine racks, slate flooring, and recessed lights twinkling like dimmed stars. It was laid out like a library with long rows of shelves, but wine bottles instead of books filled the diagonal alcoves. Except for the damage to the door, the place looked fine. The way Eli had described it over the phone I’d been expecting a mess.
“I’ll try,” I said. “I’m not sure how much help I can be.”
“Jack’s the only one who can really say what’s been stolen but from what I can tell so far, it looks like they went after only the most expensive vintages,” Sunny said. “Cases and individual bottles.”
“That must have taken some time,” I said. “Not like breaking a store window and grabbing whatever you get your hands on.” I met her eyes. “They got the Washington bottle, didn’t they? I bet that was what they came for.”
Sunny smiled tiredly and lifted her glass. “A small triumph. We never brought it back out here. It’s still in the house. In the downstairs cellar.”
“Thank God for that,” I said.
“Do you think Lucie’s right and that bottle was what they were after?” Eli asked. “When they couldn’t find it, they took all the other stuff?”
“I don’t know. This seems like it was well planned. Almost like they had a list. Most people wouldn’t know the difference between a California cult wine like Screaming Eagle and a bottle of Château Mouthwash. These guys did. One of them must have been a wine expert,” Sunny said.
Or maybe someone who bought rare wines for wealthy clients. Hadn’t Quinn said Nicole was involved in Alan Cantor’s embezzlement scheme? Where had she been last night after her dinner with Mick?
“Did Jack get a chance to see any of the robbers? Any idea how many there were?” I asked.
“No and no,” Sunny said.
“Do you know how it happened?” Eli asked.
“Sorry.” She shook her head. “Jack stayed downstairs to watch the news at eleven and I went to bed. All of a sudden I woke up and he wasn’t there. When I went down to check on him, he wasn’t in the house. So I figured maybe he’d come here. I found him lying by the door.” She picked up her glass and drank with an unsteady hand. “Unconscious but still breathing.”
“What time was this?” I asked.
“I guess around midnight.”
“You called 911?” Eli said.
“An ambulance and a couple of deputies from the sheriff’s department came right away.”
I got up and walked over to the door, running my fingers over the new keypad that was part of what Eli had said was a state-of-the-art security system. “How did they get in with all this high-tech stuff?”
Sunny sighed. “It’s not hooked up yet. Isn’t that the ultimate irony? For years all we had was an old-fashioned lock that Jack bought at the hardware store. Then a few days before we get a new security system put in, we’re robbed.”
“Eli said Jack was worried about some wine thefts out in California,” I said.
“That’s not all. Jack pays a king’s ransom in insurance for this collection,” she said. “The problem is that over the years, we’ve been drinking some of it and he’s been buying more wine. At some point he lost track of how much it was all worth at today’s prices since he used an old composition book to record what he bought and it just got too time-consuming to continually update it. Shane finally persuaded him to put everything in a computer database.”
“So you’d know what you had and what it was worth,” I said. “That’s smart.”
“Yes, except you know Jack and computers. He still prefers a quill and parchment. Fortunately Shane offered to handle it for him. He told Jack maybe we could finally lower that huge insurance premium. Having the security system would also help.”
“How complete is the database?” I asked. “It’d be a lot easier to figure out what was stolen if I could look at that.”
She shrugged. “You need to ask Shane.”
“Where is he?” I asked. “I’m surprised he’s not here.”
“No idea,” Sunny said. “I called his house, his cell—even the store. Left messages everywhere.”
“Last time I saw him was yesterday at the Point-to-Point. He saved the life of one of Mick Dunne’s jockeys who got thrown from his horse.”
“I heard about that. I’m sorry I wasn’t there but the job in Charlottesville turned out to be as big as I’d hoped.” She flicked a finger at the room as an irritated expression crossed her face. “Look at all this. Stained-glass murals. Redwood paneling. Expensive flooring. Jack spent a fortune.”
“Mind if I look around?”
“Help yourself. Eli, I need you to figure out how to seal this door until we can get a new one. Otherwise, the wine will freeze with these outdoor temperatures and then we’ve lost everything.”
My brother took off his Italian leather jacket and laid it on the bar. “Can you get me a hammer, nails, and any scrap wood you’ve got lying around? If there’s some plywood left over it’ll do for a couple of days. I’ll put in a rush order for a new door tomorrow.”
I left them and made a slow tour through the cellar. Thirty thousand bottles was a lot of wine. Some had tags hanging around the necks; others did not. I examined the wines that were next to the empty spaces on the shelves. They were always expensive vintages. What surprised me, though, was that no bottles were partially pulled out. As Sunny said, it seemed the thief or thieves already knew where to find exactly what they wanted.
I wondered how late Nicole’s dinner meeting with Mick had gone. Had it ended with a businesslike handshake at the end of the evening, or had she spent the night in his enormous bed as I had done a few nights earlier? If she’d stayed over then she couldn’t have been here at midnight clearing out Jack Greenfield’s wine cellar.
I could either ask her or I could ask Mick. Or I could stay out of it because my real reason for wanting to know had little to do with her alibi and a lot to do with my complicated relationship with Mick and the fact that I did not like Nicole Martin very much.
On my way out, Eli was still repairing the door. I told him I expected him for breakfast as soon as he was done and promised Sunny I’d call later to check on Jack.
I suppose the old saying’s true that what the eye can’t see the heart can’t grieve for. But I no longer wanted to be blind about the kind of man Mick Dunne was—that women were expendable in his life and our relationship was based on convenience.
I got in my car and headed over to Mick’s place.
I didn’t see his car at the house so I drove down to the stables. Since it was Sunday, none of the horses were being worked though a groom hand-walking Casbah passed me.
“Is he all right?” I asked.
“Looks to be. Just checking to make sure there’s no soreness or swelling after nicking his leg yesterday.”
I found Tommy Flaherty in the tack room sorting out medications. He looked surprised to see me but said that Mick had just left for the house a few minutes ago.
Mick’s farm, like mine, was based around a private circular road that linked his house and the main stable complex. But his operation was much larger so there were other roads that led to the new winery, Tommy’s house, and an indoor training track for the horses. Since Mick hadn’t driven past me, he’d taken one of the back roads to the house.
This time the Mercedes was there when I pulled up. I saw a flash of a red jacket in the garden beyond the swimming pool. Though it was late in the season, a few roses still bloomed. Mick had told me once that th
is garden reminded him of a rose garden in Hyde Park, where his mother often took him as a boy. I walked through an arbor that, in spring, would be thick with violet clematis.
He didn’t see me so I called his name.
“What are you doing here?” He walked over, holding a coffee mug in one hand. “Is anything the matter?”
“Someone broke into Jack Greenfield’s wine cellar last night. Whoever did it took a lot of wine—cases, bottles. Only the best stuff.” I leaned on my cane, trying to steady myself and my nerves. I was babbling. Not a good start. “I was just there with Eli and Sunny. The thieves knocked Jack out and he’s got a concussion.”
He took my arm. “Slow down. I can hardly understand you. Let me get you something. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? Coffee?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine. I’ve got to get home anyway.”
“I’m sorry to hear about Jack.” He still looked puzzled. “Is there anything I can do…?”
The perfect opening. “I was wondering what time Nicole Martin left after your dinner last night.”
His mouth opened and closed. He dropped my arm and wrapped both hands around his mug. “First of all, what does that have to do with Jack Greenfield, and second of all, what business is it of yours?”
My cheeks burned. “Because whoever broke into his wine cellar knew what they were taking. Sunny said it’s almost like someone had a list.”
“I see.” His voice hardened. “So you believe Nicole had something to do with the break-in. That she’s a common thief. My understanding is that she buys wine for her clients. She doesn’t steal it for them. Unless you know something I don’t?” His eyes were flat and expressionless.
I couldn’t tell him. What Quinn told me he’d done for Nicole in California had been a private confession. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it.”
“Can’t talk about what?” Now he was angry. “Look, you come here more or less asking me if I slept with the woman to give her an alibi for a robbery. What the hell’s going on with you, Lucie?”
“Nothing. Nothing. I’m sorry, Mick. I’ve got to go.”
I stumbled on the uneven path as I tried to move away from him but he grabbed my arm again and this time jerked it so I faced him. Even through my jacket his fingers dug into my flesh and it hurt. He was angrier than I’d ever seen him.
“We finished dinner around nine. She left straight away. Satisfied?” He dropped my arm in disgust and walked back to the rose garden.
I drove home, my cheeks burning with shame and humiliation, but at least I had the answer to my question. Nicole Martin could have gone to Jack Greenfield’s last night after she left Mick.
I’d been evasive with him in order to protect what Quinn told me in confidence. In turn it had earned me Mick’s scorn and contempt. Indirectly, I’d also protected Nicole—the very thing I’d warned Quinn not to do. She had already betrayed his trust, letting him take the blame for something she did, and he was still paying for it.
Why was it that all roads led back to Nicole? Perhaps it was the feeling in the pit of my stomach—like nausea—that made me think she was as dangerous now as she’d been then. And that it wouldn’t be long before her whole house of cards was going to come crashing down on all of us.
Chapter 18
Quinn was in the lab, working on more calculations, when I showed up in the barrel room first thing Monday morning. His eyes were dark and hooded and he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. Wherever he’d been and whatever he’d done, it hadn’t brought him any peace if his face was anything to go by. He’d probably spent a fair bit of time with his drinking buddy, Johnnie Walker.
“You all right?” I said.
His look said he appreciated my fine sense of irony. “Brix has gone to zero. I’m going to pump out the free run juice, then press.”
Since we apparently weren’t pulling our punches I said, “Someone broke into Jack Greenfield’s wine cellar at his home on Saturday night. Jack showed up in the middle of the robbery and got knocked unconscious.”
Quinn finally showed some genuine emotion. “Are you serious? Is he okay?”
“Mild concussion but he’s home. Eli and I went over there yesterday morning to help Sunny.” I picked up the paper with his calculations on it. Without looking up I said, “Whoever did it knew exactly what they were looking for. They took only the best vintages.”
He took the paper out of my hand. “She didn’t do it, Lucie.”
“She was with Mick Dunne until nine o’clock,” I said. “The break-in was sometime between eleven and twelve.”
“What was she doing with Mick?”
“Having dinner. He’s hiring her to buy wine for him.”
His tight smile said it was news to him. “I wondered how long it would take before they hooked up. Mick Dunne is Nic’s kind of client.” He pointed out the lab window at the fermenting vats. “As long as you’re here, you can help me with the free run juice. We’ll put it in the number-six tank for now.”
He left the lab before I could say anything and wheeled the pump over to one of the vats. I still wasn’t done with our conversation.
I joined him. “What makes you so sure she didn’t leave Mick’s place and drive over to Jack’s?”
“Because she spent the rest of the night with me.” His tone was matter-of-fact but there was still an edge to it. “Get me some clamps, will you?”
I got the clamps. It gave me a few seconds to compose myself even though it felt like he had just wrapped piano wire around my heart and he was pulling it tighter the more we talked. Nicole hadn’t slept with Mick. She’d slept with Quinn.
“If she was with you all night then I guess she couldn’t have broken into Jack’s place.”
He plunged a hose into the fermenting vat. “Guess not.”
“Wonder who did it, then.”
“I’m sure the sheriff will figure it out.”
He put a hose from the other end of the pump into the number six stainless-steel tank. “You think I’m covering for her again, don’t you?”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to. Come here.” He left the hose where it was and led me to the winemaker’s table. “Look at this.”
An elaborately carved pumpkin of a witch flying across a harvest moon. He pulled matches from his jeans pocket and lit the votive candle inside the pumpkin. The flickering orange glow made rippling shadows on a rack of wine barrels. He dimmed the lights and the effect was even spookier.
“Nic did it. And this one.” He got a second pumpkin from his workbench and brought it back to the table.
He lit the candle and suddenly an angry Freddie the Fox glowed eerily at me. I froze momentarily, staring at the menacing eyes and fanged teeth. “My God, Quinn. Why did she carve Freddie the Fox?”
“What are you talking about?” He turned the pumpkin carefully so he could look at it. “That’s no fox. It’s a werewolf. Anyone can see that.”
The blood pounded in my temples. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Lucie. You look like you’re about to pass out. You want me to get you some water?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.” I stepped back. He was right. It was a werewolf, not Freddie. “Sorry. Of course it’s a werewolf. It’s very good. They both are. I had no idea she was so talented.”
He smiled ruefully. “Ever since she was a kid she loved Halloween. She bought these pumpkins at the farm market and brought them over to carve Saturday night. Figured I’d have the knives and tools she needed to do it.”
“You mind if I ask what time she arrived?”
He stared at me, but answered readily enough. “Ten. Ten-thirty. I don’t know. She just showed up.” He moved the pumpkins so they were next to each other. “She slept on my couch. Apparently it’s over between her and Shane.”
The wire around my heart loosened and I wondered why I seem
ed to care more whether she had slept with my winemaker than with my sometimes lover.
“What’s she going to do now?” I asked.
“Talk Jack into selling her that bottle of wine and wipe the dust from her feet on her way out of Atoka.”
“You sorry she’s leaving?”
We walked back to the pump. “Hold onto that hose, will you? Am I sorry? You must be joking. Nic still knows how to punch my buttons.” He flipped the switch on the pump and we watched the juice flow from the fermenting vat to the tank. “Hell, I’d buy her ticket home except I know she’s flying first class. The only way she travels now.”
“Nice of you to put her up for the night.” I had to speak up over the noise of the pump.
“Yeah, well, I’m a nice guy.”
“Sometimes.” I smiled at him.
Or maybe he’d been a pushover for her again. Now he was her alibi for the burglary at Jack’s. Was Nicole using Quinn one last time? Wherever she’d been, I still thought she was somehow involved with that robbery.
“What made you think that werewolf was a fox?” He shut off the pump, interrupting my thoughts.
“Someone disemboweled a stuffed animal, poured red paint on him, and left him on my front doorstep Saturday morning. Freddie the Fox—maybe you’ve seen him in the shops in town.”
“I have. Jesus, that’s sick.”
“Whoever did it was probably trying to get me to cancel the Goose Creek Hunt’s meet here tomorrow. Scare me, I guess.”
“Did you tell Amanda or Shane or anyone from the hunt?”
“No. I didn’t want to upset them. By the way,” I said, “Shane’s coming over later this morning to ride their territory. Make sure the fences and jumps are all in order. You didn’t tell your friend he could come by and go deer hunting today, did you?”
He moved my hose to the next vat. “No. Look, Lucie, you should have told Shane. Or someone. What if this nutcase tries to sabotage those jumps? Putting barbed wire around them or digging holes where no one expects them? Someone could really get hurt. Riders. Horses. The hounds.”
