“So it was you,” I remarked. “Since we’re being honest here, how exactly did you take care of it?”
“Small, petty Cooper. I invited him to have a drink with me. Except his was laced with a little special something I brought with me. I thought it was best to be prepared since I knew we were opening the Clair Bleu.” Martin smiled coldly. “In fact, you were sitting in the same room when I did it. I guess you don’t notice everything.”
I thought back to the dinner. Alicia talked to me about auctions right before Cooper left to check on the bottle. Alicia, causing a distraction while Martin helped Cooper with a painful and sudden onset of poisoning that explained the fall down the stairs. “But what would it matter if Paul knew about the wine? He knows now.”
“Yeah, I didn’t bank on you, Katie Stillwell. I thought Cooper was the only one who had figured it out.” He shook his head. “Who knew a girl could be the real danger.”
I stiffened as my anger boiled.
“Paul would have told everyone about our business,” Martin continued. “All of our wine sales would have dried up. Everyone would know what I did. I would lose my reputation.” Martin shook his head. “If Cooper hadn’t wanted to tell Paul, he’d still be alive.” His eyes narrowed. “And if I had known you knew about the wine, I would have taken care of you that night, too.”
“But it’s a good thing you didn’t. Because now I can help you. Let’s get started, shall we?” I turned to the bottles on the counter, hoping that the guns were put away. I didn’t hear any movement and I could tell at least one was still focused on me. I swallowed hard and tried to appear calm on the exterior as I looked at two bottles, Domaine Hibou and Domaine Garinett, on the table in front of me.
“I don’t know,” said Vincent.
“What about you, Christopher?” asked Martin.
“If she’s as good at wine as you say she is, maybe. If not, we get rid of her.”
“Excellent idea,” replied Martin. “Let’s put her to the test. Go ahead, Christopher.”
There was noise around me as the three of them shuffled items, but I didn’t move. I remained still, focused on the wall in front of me as my heart rate accelerated.
“We were fine selling our wines, but people are starting to open them,” said Christopher. “Now we need to make them taste authentic as well. This is where you come in.” He put a glass of red wine on the counter in front of me. “This is our latest batch,” he said. “It’s supposed to be a 1989 Domaine Hibou.”
I stared at the glass. The rim was already too strong for a 1989 vintage. “What do you want me to do?”
“Do you know the Domaine?” asked Christopher.
I wanted to laugh because I had been to the winery on a trip to visit my uncle in France, but I kept my expression neutral. “Yes, I know Hibou very well.”
“Tell us if it tastes like their wine.”
I picked up the glass, a noticeable shake in my arm. “I can’t taste under pressure. Can you please put the guns away?” My comment was met by silence. I took a sip of the wine. It was very fruit forward, like a recent vintage. Nothing like a 1989 Domaine Hibou.
“How is it?” asked Vincent.
I wanted to reply that it was fine and hoped that would be enough to let me go, but I didn’t think that would go over well. “It still tastes new,” I replied. “You can’t hide the fruit that jumps out.”
Christopher removed the glass from my hand and gave me another one. “What about this one?”
“Isn’t it the same?”
Silence again.
This was much more intense than the blind tasting I would do during my Advanced Sommelier exam. If I could handle this, the exam was going to be a piece of cake. Assuming I lived that long.
“Taste it,” said Vincent.
I put the glass to my lips and sipped, not only trying to discern the wine but also trying to figure out a way out of this. “Much better,” I said as I put the glass down. “The flavors are muted. It’s more believable. I would call this a 1989 Domaine Hibou.” Though I hoped my blind tasting skills were still sharp enough to know it was fake.
Christopher picked up the glass and tasted it. “Okay, I agree. She’s good,” he said.
“Same,” replied Vincent. “She can stay.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps this meant I was going to be on my way soon. But even as I wanted to believe it, I knew that I had seen too much.
“Well done, Katie,” said Martin. “Just as I thought, you’re going to be very useful to us. Right in time for the auction.”
“I’m glad to be part of the team,” I lied. “What did you guys add to the wine?”
“The less you know, the better,” replied Vincent.
“Agreed. So shall I meet you here again in the morning?”
“Fat chance,” said Christopher. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“You can’t keep me here,” I said with a laugh in my voice though it was out of fear instead of humor.
“Unfortunately, he’s right, Katie,” said Martin. “We only need you for forty-eight hours, then we’ll clean all of this up.”
“You can’t do this.” I glanced around at the three men. “Someone will come looking for me.”
“Who? Paul?” Martin laughed. “I’ll call and tell him you’ve left. That you’re working on his project and you’ll be back in a few days.”
The sound of a bell filled the room.
Martin rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Who’s at the front door at this hour? It’s past eight. People have to know we’re closed.”
“Did she call the cops?” asked Christopher.
I stayed silent.
“Did you?”
I swallowed. “You have my phone. How could I possibly call the police?”
“Christopher, check it out. Vincent, too. One of you report back.”
“You’ll be okay with her down here?” said Christopher.
“Christopher, get the door!”
The two men left.
Martin turned to me. “I’m so glad we’re working together now. I liked you from the moment I met you. Alicia didn’t, but then, there’s no accounting for her taste.” He grinned as he poured three more glasses. “Want to try the next round of wines?”
I needed to find a way out of this. The wine opener shifted in my boot. The small knife wouldn’t do much in attacking Martin. If Christopher and Vincent had guns, Martin probably did as well.
The door swung open.
“It’s a cop,” said Vincent.
“What does he want?”
“I don’t know. When I found out it was a cop, I came right back to get you. Christopher’s talking to him.”
“Stay here,” said Martin, glaring at me.
“You can’t leave her down here,” said Vincent.
“She’s fine. We’ll lock the door.”
“I’ll just continue tasting the wines,” I replied.
“Good girl,” said Martin. “And just know that if you scream for help, it won’t end well for you.” He closed the door followed by the sound of the lock turning.
I waited for a moment to make sure they weren’t coming back, and then I got to work planning my escape. I pulled at the door handle just in case.
It didn’t budge.
I glanced around the room. There were no other doors, but there were two small windows at the top of the room. The same windows I had looked through earlier.
I climbed onto the counter. The windows were near my shoulder level and big enough to crawl through. I pulled at the metal ring below the glass. It wouldn’t open.
Upon closer inspection, I could see the seams of the window sealed by the paint. What good was a window if it was painted shut?
I reached into my boot and pulled out my wine opener. It had been a gift years
ago from my uncle, my mom’s brother who lived in France, and although I had tried more expensive brands, nothing was as reliable as this one. I used it constantly at Trentino when opening wine, but more importantly at the moment, it had a blade.
Using the knife, I worked at the seam of the window, removing the paint that held the two sections together. The knife, which was already due for a sharpening, was dulling quickly—it was meant for cutting the foil off wine bottles, not for removing paint.
When I had made a line around the entire crease, I put the opener on the counter and pulled at the window. Nothing moved. I tried again, using more force. Nothing.
I looked at the second window, but it seemed to be more sealed than the first one. I hopped off the counter and walked around the rest of the room, searching for another escape route, but the concrete block walls left little chance of any additional openings.
I returned to the counter and noticed a flat metal blade behind a group of bottles. Most likely used by Martin and his group to remove wine labels after steaming, it would be ideal to help me.
I climbed back up and pressed the blade into the seam of the window and pushed. It went deeper than my knife and I continued around the entire frame. When I was done, I pulled at the loop. There was tension followed by a cracking sound. The window swung toward me an inch.
I pulled again, creating a large enough gap, and pushed myself through the window until my feet no longer touched the counter below. I kicked my legs as I tried to wiggle through, but the small space of the window seemed to shrink and I wasn’t moving forward. I tried to back out but that didn’t work either.
I was stuck.
thirty-two
pairing suggestion: sauvignon blanc
—marlborough, new zealand
A crisp and acidic wine with notes of gooseberry,
fermented in stainless steel.
-
The vineyard, and freedom, were only five feet away, but I wasn’t going anywhere. It’s possible I had been through worse things in my life than being stuck in the middle of a window facing a vineyard with armed men returning any second, but at that moment, I couldn’t think of any.
I started to panic, but I knew that wasn’t going to solve anything. Anxiety during my first Certified Sommelier exam caused me to fail. I needed to get it under control so I could figure out how to free myself from this situation before Martin, Christopher, or Vincent returned. I had to calm down.
My breathing was rapid so I tried to look at the vineyards, but the light from the building only illuminated the first few rows. But I knew that when I was out of options, I could create my own. I closed my eyes and pictured rows of vineyards, their organized lines stretching out in front of me, as I breathed in and out. After about a minute, my breathing slowed and I became calmer. Now I needed to get out.
I struggled again but didn’t get any farther. I took a deep breath and then felt around the areas of the window keeping me prisoner.
My fingers reached my belt. It was caught on the latch of the window. I remembered what my mom used to say: Sometimes the thing keeping you from your goal isn’t as big as you think.
I pushed back, unhooked my belt from the latch, and pulled myself through the rest of the window.
I was safely out.
I stood up and pressed myself against the side of the building, away from the window, as I stared out at the night. Complete darkness without the benefit of house lights or street lights. Exactly what I didn’t like. In fact, I was frankly afraid of it. It wasn’t the fact that I couldn’t see; it was the thought of what I couldn’t see. Objects in my path, danger, attackers. Anything.
But my choices were to stay here and be recaptured or go into the dark. I chose the latter.
I kept low to the ground and started running. I stopped before I got more than ten feet.
My wine opener.
I patted my pants but knew it wasn’t there. It was still in the room after I had used it to open the window.
It was my most trusted item and I couldn’t leave it behind. It had only been out of my possession once before, when I left it in the wine cellar at Frontier. Tessa had returned it to me a few days later. There would be no returning it this time.
I ran back to the window and pushed it open. My wine opener was on the counter, out of my reach. I pushed in a little farther and when my fingers had just touched the edge of it, the door to the room swung open.
“What?” said Martin as he stood next to Christopher and Vincent. “Get her!”
I grabbed the opener and pulled back out of the window, the latch catching my sleeve and tearing both the fabric and my skin.
I sprinted into the darkness, my legs carrying me to a place I didn’t know. I just knew I had to run.
Dark lines came toward me. I was at the vineyard.
“There she is, I see her,” said a voice, followed by the beam of a flashlight. I ran harder, entering the row and down the slope, the bare vines to my sides. But I knew right away that it wasn’t my smartest move. I was a captive target.
I ran through the dark, my feet pounding on the dirt, the row never ending. I gasped for air, my lungs barely able to expand, my head aching from my earlier injury.
The vineyards, which had always been such a source of calm and order for me, were keeping me in one straight line. A sitting duck.
One of the guys could be right behind, seconds from catching me. I needed to change the situation.
I threw myself on the dirt and rolled under one of the wires, the clipped vines pulling at my hair. I did it a second time, making it under another row of vines. Once I was on the other side, I scrambled to my feet and started running again. I couldn’t see anything in front of me, but I didn’t have time to check where my followers were.
The row was ending soon. Freedom. I sprinted faster and slammed into something hard at the end of the row. Whatever I hit went crashing down to the ground with me, a grunt coming from it. I had run into a person.
I jumped up to take off again, certain that it was Martin, Christopher, or Vincent, but a scent that I recognized stopped me. An aftershave I knew well.
“Dean? What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
I spun around to see if my attacker was behind me. “He was after me. He was chasing me through the vineyard.”
“Who was chasing you?”
“One of the counterfeiters. Martin. Christopher. Vincent. I don’t know.”
Dean pulled out a flashlight and shone down the vineyard. “I don’t see anyone. Come on, let’s go see who we can find.”
“By ourselves?”
“I’ll call for backup.”
Squad cars surrounded the building as I stood next to Dean. It had been a while since my run, but I still couldn’t catch my breath.
We waited together while deputies talked to Martin. Dean tentatively put his arm around me at one point to keep me warm, but dropped it almost as soon as it happened.
“Was that you at the door?” I asked.
“Yes, but they said they hadn’t seen you.”
“Thanks for doing that.”
“What?”
“For ringing the bell. It gave me the chance I needed to escape.”
A deputy approached us. “According to them, you broke into their cellar through a window.”
“I didn’t! I escaped through that window.” My voice quickly disappeared into the night. “What about the bottles? And the barrels? That’s what they’re using to counterfeit wine.”
“Can you walk us through there? So she can verify what she saw?” asked Dean.
The deputy hesitated. “Yes, but you’re not allowed to touch anything. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
The three of us headed down to the cellar where the barrels of wine remained, but every sing
le older bottle, both empty and full, had been removed.
“But they were here.” I stared at the blank counter. “All the bottles and labels were right here.”
“Are you sure you’re not just trying to make a scene?” asked Martin as he entered the room. “It’s clear that you’re not always right.”
“You know I’m telling the truth,” I seethed.
The deputy stepped between us. “Stop it, both of you.”
I touched my head, which had started to ache again from my earlier injury. It was all too much.
“Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?” asked Dean.
“No, I’m fine. Just a headache.”
“Yes, I believe you hit your head earlier today, didn’t you?” said Martin. “I’d rather not press charges. I think we can put this down to a misunderstanding. Don’t you agree, Katie? I’m sure she didn’t mean to come in here. I’m happy to drop it.”
I stared at Martin, but I knew I didn’t have any leverage. I knew I was in danger.
“I think that will be fine,” said Dean, replying for me. “Katie, come on.” Dean pulled at my arm. “It’s time to let Mr. Trager and his employees get on with their evening.”
“Don’t forget your phone, Katie. You left it on your visit.” He handed it to me, a large smirk on his face. “Be safe out there.”
When Dean and I reached my car, I turned to him. “You didn’t need to speak for me, you know. I can speak for myself.”
“I needed to get you out of that situation. It wasn’t safe.”
I opened my car door and sat down. “I want to go home.”
“Not yet.”
“What?”
“Two things,” said Dean as he held up two fingers. “One, you’re going straight back to my place and you’re not leaving again. Understand?”
“Okay. What’s the second thing?”
“I need my phone.”
I raised my shoulders. “I’m not catching on.”
“Can you look between the seats? I know it’s in here somewhere.”
I put my hand between my seat and the center console. There was Dean’s phone. “You put your phone in my car?” I handed it to him.
Uncorking a Lie Page 17
