Uncorking a Lie

by Nadine Nettmann

  The statement made me pause. I wasn’t often called attractive. I didn’t have a boyfriend and it wasn’t a word that friends and family said in regular conversation. “Thank you, Mr. Diven. I must go.” I stepped outside.

  “Katie?”

  I turned around.

  Henry looked like a child who had been scolded. “Why do you really want to know the name of the private party?”

  I hesitated. “I want to know the wine’s journey. Where it was between the winery and now,” I replied. “It meant a lot to Paul and I’d love to hear the story.”

  “Well, I can’t give you the name of the private party who sold it at the auction, but I know who had it before they did. The previous owner. Would that help?”

  “Who?”

  “Roberto Morini.”

  “From Paul’s dinner?”

  “Yes. He has a wine shop on Pearl in Napa. Grand Vino. I don’t think I’m crossing any privacy lines by telling you that the private party bought it from the shop a few months ago.”

  “Thank you.” I headed down the steps.

  “And Katie?”

  I turned around once more.

  “Are you working at Trentino this week?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Is it okay if I stop in? Purely as friends, of course.”

  I hesitated. “Mr. Diven—”

  “Henry,” he said.

  “Henry,” I replied, my expression emotionless, “you are free to do whatever you would like.”

  ten

  pairing suggestion: châteauneuf-du-pape

  —châteauneuf-du-pape, france

  A red wine characterized by round stones, galets,

  which surround the vines and retain the sun’s heat into the night.

  -

  I drove toward Napa, passing the area where a truck had tried to force me off the road in the fall. Though my car was still damaged, I no longer feared being run off the road. The two people responsible were in prison. And now my focus was on wine and only on wine. One in particular and I had my next clue: Roberto’s store.

  I pressed my foot on the gas pedal as I flew into Napa Valley, not realizing how fast I was going until red and blue lights flashed in my rearview mirror. Great. A ticket.

  I pulled over and waited as the squad car stopped behind me. This was going to be pricey. Paul said he would pay me to investigate, but I didn’t know how much that would be and an expensive ticket was not what I needed.

  I drummed my hands on the steering wheel as I waited for the officer to get out of the vehicle, give me a ticket, and possibly deliver a stern speech on how I was putting other lives at risk. I had received the lecture several times from my father, a police officer himself, even though I had only been ticketed once before. It was partly luck and partly because I usually drove the speed limit. But my mind was preoccupied today.

  The officer finally got out of his car except he wasn’t wearing the button-down beige uniform of a Napa Valley sheriff. Instead he had on a polo shirt with a logo over the left pocket area and khakis. And he had blond hair. And was tall.

  A strange mixture of fear and excitement swelled through me. It could be him, and it could not be him.

  The officer reached my window and there he was. Dean.

  “Do you know how fast you were driving?” He leaned into the window and then stopped as his blue eyes met mine. “Katie?”

  “Hi, Dean.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “Yeah,” he stumbled, clearly thrown off his routine. “What are you doing here?”

  “Going to see a friend. He has a wine shop in downtown Napa.”

  “Oh,” his voice lowered and I knew what he was thinking.

  “Not that kind of friend. In fact, not really even a friend. It’s more about business.” Why was I constantly explaining myself ? I stopped speaking and waited.

  “Okay, well,” said Dean. “You were speeding back there. Pretty fast, actually.” He stepped back and motioned to the scrapes and dents that plagued the side doors. “You still haven’t fixed this.”

  “No,” I replied as I thought about what I could say. “I don’t plan on it.”

  “Really?”

  “I think the damage gives it character,” I said, leaving out the fact that I really didn’t have the money to fix it. “It makes it unique. We all have a little damage. It’s what makes us, us. Like the vines that struggle, produce the best grapes—”

  “If you keep driving like I just saw,” Dean interrupted, the officer side of him taking over. Just like my father. “You’re going to have more accidents.”

  “You know that one wasn’t my fault.” Although Dean hadn’t been present when I was run off the road, it took place during a case we were both investigating. “I usually drive safely but I had a really good reason for speeding today.” I cringed as I said it. As a cop’s daughter, I should know better. My father would be furious if he knew I had been speeding.

  “Try me.” There was no smile, no twinkle in his eyes.

  I didn’t need to reiterate that I was going to Roberto’s, so I tried a different tactic. “Maybe it was so I could get your attention.”

  “Really,” he replied in a tone that didn’t mean it. “You know, I called you.”

  “I know …”

  “A few times.” Dean put his hands in his pockets. “You never returned my calls.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I was studying … I should have called you back.”

  “Well,” said Dean. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. It was the test and then work. I just never got around to calling—”

  “That’s not what I meant,” he interrupted.

  I looked at him, trying to think.

  “Did you pass? Your test?”

  “I did. I’m a Certified Sommelier now.”

  “Congratulations.” Dean smiled, almost a pained smile, but it looked like he meant the compliment.

  “Thank you.”

  Dean glanced at the cars passing us on the road. “Listen, I don’t normally pull people over, I leave that to the patrol deputies, but your driving was unsafe. I don’t want you to endanger others, or yourself … I’ve seen too many bad accidents along here. Too many fatalities.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I replied. And I was. I looked up at Dean, his blond hair slicked back, his blue eyes brightly shining. He had been so nice to me and yet I had hurt him, even though I never meant to. “That’s not all I’m sorry about,” I said as I took a breath. “I should have called you back. I wanted to, but …” I paused. “I don’t know. I’m complicated.”

  “Yeah, I learned that last fall.” Dean stood up straighter and looked around. “Why the rush to get to a wine shop? Surely you have enough wine back in San Francisco.”

  “My mind was on something else.”

  “Such as?”

  I hesitated.

  Dean crossed his arms. “I thought we were past the secret keeping stage, Katie. Or do you still have more?”

  “No, it’s not that.” I took a deep breath. “Yesterday Paul Rafferty’s assistant Cooper—”

  “Fell down the stairs,” Dean interjected.

  “Wait, how did you know?”

  “I heard about it.”

  “It was terrible. He was at the base of the stairs when I found him. He was still alive but he passed away later.”

  Dean stared at me. “You were there?”

  I nodded as I debated how much I should share with Dean. “But that’s not all. Before Cooper died, we opened a bottle of wine Paul purchased at an auction. I think it was counterfeit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think it was a doctored bottle of wine. It was a new wine made to seem like it was from 1975. Anyway, I’m l
ooking into it at the request of Paul Rafferty. He’s paying me to find out who did it so he can go after them.”

  “Katie, didn’t you learn last year that it isn’t smart to get involved in these things? It’s dangerous.”

  I stiffened in my seat. “Didn’t you learn last year that because of me, Mark Plueger’s murder was solved? The two people responsible are now locked away. Because of me.”

  Dean shook his head but his face broke into a smile. “You never change, Katie Stillwell.”

  “Some might say that’s a good thing.”

  “I guess so,” he said as he continued smiling. “Since you’re working for Paul, does that mean you quit your job at Trentino?”

  “No, I’m still doing that, too.”

  “Makes sense, since you’ve passed your test and you no longer need to study.”

  I started to grin and Dean noticed. “What?”

  “I’m studying for my next test. The Advanced.”

  Dean looked down the road and back at me. “Well, you certainly like to keep busy.”

  I nodded.

  “Listen, I don’t really want to write you a ticket. Can you please slow down, keep it to the speed limit?”

  “I will,” I said with more excitement than I intended to display as I processed the thought of not receiving a ticket costing several hundred dollars. “I promise. Only the speed limit from now on.”

  “Good.” He paused. “It was nice to see you again, Katie. Good luck with the Advanced and please drive safe.” He started to walk away.

  I opened my door and called to him. “Wait, Dean.”

  He took a few steps back toward my car.

  “I really am sorry I didn’t return your calls. If you call again, I’ll answer.” I paused. “I’d like you to call again.”

  Dean took a deep breath. “That’s nice to hear.” He glanced down at his watch. “Do you have some time before you go to the wine shop? I’m about to take my lunch break and I’d like to hear about this work for Paul Rafferty.”

  I stared at the road ahead, downtown Napa only a few minutes away. “I’d love to but I need to get to the store.” I debated asking Dean to join me, but I needed to approach Roberto on my own first. “I want to make sure I have enough time there before I have to go to work.”

  Dean’s face fell and my heart sank.

  “But are you free tomorrow?” I added. “I can drive back up here.”

  Dean raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

  I nodded. “I’d really like to have lunch with you tomorrow.”

  Dean grinned. “Great. Where would you like to go? Or would you like me to recommend somewhere? There’s a new sandwich shop in Yountville.”

  “Actually,” I interjected as I thought about Alicia and Leanor’s conversation at dinner. “Do you mind if we meet in Sonoma? There’s a place that’s been on my mind.”

  eleven

  pairing suggestion: mâconnais—burgundy, france

  An aromatic and traditionally unoaked Chardonnay,

  though some houses are now starting to use oak.

  -

  Roberto’s shop, Grand Vino, was located on Main and Pearl in the historic section of downtown Napa. It had a blue awning, large windows, and a locked door. I pulled at the handle again to make sure, but the door didn’t budge.

  I glanced at the sign in the window. Open Tuesday through Sunday. Closed Mondays. Great. I drove all the way to Napa for nothing.

  I leaned on the glass and put my hands around my face so I could see in. Although it wasn’t a large store, it was lined with bottles from floor to ceiling and crates of wine formed aisles. But the store wasn’t completely absent of activity. There was a light on in the back.

  I continued to look through the window, waiting for any sign of movement. The level of light remained unchanged but that didn’t mean Roberto wasn’t inside. It was worth giving it a full try before giving up.

  I knocked on the glass. If someone on the street saw me, they might think I was breaking in and call the cops. Hopefully the responding officer would be Dean.

  A gentleman moved out of the shadows and into the light.

  I tapped on the window.

  He stepped closer. It was Roberto. He waved his hand horizontally, to signify that the shop was closed.

  I nodded and tapped again.

  Roberto, with a clear look of frustration on his face, came to the front door and unlocked it, only opening it a few inches. “We’re closed today,” his accent clipped.

  “Roberto, it’s me. Katie Stillwell. From last night.”

  Roberto’s face lit up and he opened the door wide. “Katherine, come in, come in. What are you doing here?”

  I stepped into the store, a smile forming as I did. I loved being around all of the bottles of wine, knowing each one was waiting for their moment to shine. But as much as I wanted to see the wines Roberto had for sale, I had to focus on my reason for being there. I also needed to decide how I was going to play this. “I thought it might be nice to stop by.”

  “I’m glad you came to visit,” said Roberto as he moved behind the counter that had four leather bar stools in front. “I do inventory on Mondays. I was about to leave so you caught me right on time. Here, take a seat.”

  “Oh, I don’t need to sit. I won’t be here long.”

  “No, sit down. You’re my guest.” Roberto’s face lit up with his huge smile. “It’s wine time. What can I pour for you?”

  I pulled up a bar stool and sat down. “Well, I’m actually not here for that.”

  “Nonsense. That’s not how we work around here.” He grabbed a glass and placed it in front of me. “Red or white?”

  I stared at the empty glass and then shifted my focus to him. “Surprise me.”

  Roberto’s eyes glistened and he turned to the fridge behind him. “What brings you to the area? I thought you were based in San Francisco.”

  “I’m working on something with Paul.”

  “Oh?” The sound of bottles being moved around filled the air. “It was so sad that Cooper fell down the stairs.” He brought out a bottle. “Are you his new assistant? Taking over for Cooper?”

  An interesting deduction, but I decided not to comment. “No, not exactly. I work at Trentino.”

  “What do you do at Trentino?”

  “I’m a sommelier.”

  Roberto flashed a smile. “Now it makes sense, Katherine. You knew a lot about wine last night.” He poured a white wine into the glass, the label turned away from me. “Here you go. I brought a case of this in last week. It’s amazing. Like blow-your-mind great.” He motioned with his hands exploding near his head.

  “What is it?”

  He laughed. “I’m not going to tell you. I want your opinion first.”

  I swirled the wine and took a deep sniff, a heavy scent of lychee floating from the glass. I sipped. The wine was well-balanced with almost a limestone quality to it. There was grapefruit and lychee, along with strong minerality. My mind raced to identify the wine. Possible varietals included Gewürztraminer, Pinot Blanc, and Riesling.

  “Do you like it, Katherine?”

  I nodded, an unavoidable smile on my face. “It’s beautiful.”

  Roberto reached for the bottle. “Yes, it’s a—”

  “No,” I interrupted.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Let me figure it out.” I took another sip, which confirmed my deduction. “It’s an Alsatian Gewürztraminer. Gotta love that lychee.”

  Roberto turned the bottle to reveal the label of a Gewürztraminer from Alsace. “I’m impressed.”

  I wanted to say that they didn’t call me The Palate for nothing, but I kept quiet.

  “Let me pour you another one.”

  My eyes flicked to the bottles behind him before shaking m
y head. “No, that’s not why I’m here.”

  “That’s right. Paul. Is he looking for a specific bottle?”

  My mind raced to think of a question before diving into the Chateau Clair Bleu. “He’s interested in Mouton Rothschilds.”

  “Wonderful. I have a few of them over here.” Roberto walked over to a glass case and pointed to three bottles of Mouton Rothschild. “What year did he want?”

  I stood up from the stool and followed him to the glass case. None of the bottles were from 1958.

  “Not sure,” I replied. “But if he wanted to get different years, would you be able to order them?”

  “Of course.” Roberto returned to the bar and I sank back onto the stool.

  “What about another Chateau Clair Bleu?”

  Roberto nodded. “We have two in the store.”

  “Are either of them a 1975?”

  “Like the one we opened last night? No, sadly.”

  “You sold that bottle, correct?”

  Roberto studied me for a moment. “Paul bought that wine at the Red Heart Auction, I believe. I don’t sell wine at auctions. My focus is here at the store.” Roberto motioned around at the bottles lining the walls.

  “But you had the wine before then, didn’t you? I heard it came from your shop. Not directly before the auction, but a few months ago, right?”

  Roberto’s smile faded. “Katherine, I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken. I never owned the bottle.”

  “I must have heard it incorrectly,” I replied. If Roberto didn’t trust me, that was one thing. But if he was telling the truth, that was another problem altogether. I needed to soften the mood. “Paul seems like a great guy. I’m glad to be helping him with his wine collection.”

  Roberto poured himself a pale red wine, most likely a Pinot Noir, and sat down across from me. “One of the best.”

  “You know him pretty well, right?”

  “Paul and I go back a long time. Probably before you were even born.”

  I faked a grin. I hated when people said things like that. It threw an immediate undercurrent into the conversation, like they were staking a claim that I would never know as much as them. Perhaps I was just being oversensitive, but I didn’t like to be thought of as young and naive.