Uncorking a Lie

by Nadine Nettmann

  “No. It must have slipped out of my pocket when I drove you to my place earlier today.”

  “Which is why you didn’t answer when I called you.”

  Dean nodded as he looked at the missed calls on his phone.

  “But wait, how did you know it was in here?”

  “The same way I knew where you were. I did the phone finder app. It led me to your car. Good thing, too. I thought you might be getting into something dangerous instead of safe at my apartment. I was right.” Dean crouched down and looked straight into my eyes. “I believe you. I believe that they’re committing fraud and that they held you captive.”

  “And that they killed Cooper and Simon?”

  “Yes.” He paused. “But you’re a witness and if they’re as bad as you say, they’re going to come after you. You can stay at my apartment until we figure out what to do.”

  thirty-three

  pairing suggestion: riesling—clare valley, australia

  These dry wines come from an area known for producing excellent Rieslings with crisp acidity and hints of lime without the sweetness.

  -

  I awoke on Thursday morning to complete silence in the apartment. I walked into the living room, glancing around for Dean but he wasn’t there and the door to his room was open.

  “Dean?”

  No reply. I tried not to think about Martin and his friends. If they found out where Dean lived, they would come here. But they also were more clever than that. They would wait until I was alone and vulnerable. Like I was now.

  “Dean?” I repeated. A small amount of panic began in my chest as I walked through the apartment. I reached the kitchen and relief flooded through me as I saw the note on the fridge: Be right back. Do NOT leave. Kettle should still be warm. Hot chocolate on counter.

  I turned on the kettle. It boiled immediately as I picked up the packet of hot chocolate Dean had left out. The gesture made me smile. It had been a while since we had talked over a cup of hot chocolate, but he had remembered that I preferred it to coffee.

  I poured the packet and water into a black mug and took a seat at the table. As much as I enjoyed being around Dean, I wanted to be back in my own apartment. Back in my regular routine. But that wouldn’t happen until I was no longer a threat to Martin. He knew where I lived and he knew where I worked. He knew everything about me and I was trapped. Unless I could find a way out.

  I thought back to the conversation in the basement at Trager Imports. I was certain one of them, most likely Christopher, had mentioned an upcoming auction.

  I took a large sip of the hot chocolate and stared at the copy of the San Francisco Chronicle on the table. It was already unfolded so I guessed Dean had been up for a while before me. The liquid burned as it went down my throat, but I was too distracted to care. I grabbed the paper and start flipping through the pages.

  I arrived at the list of the week’s events and read each one until I saw it. There it was, the Sonoma Wine Auction on Friday from 11am to 4pm at the Monument Hotel.

  I picked up my phone and went to the auction’s website to preview the items. I didn’t have to skim far. Simon may have sold the other bottle under a private party, but Martin had his company proudly listed for lot #14. Trager Imports.

  Here was my chance. I could take Martin out in a big way, in front of everyone, and regain my safety. I had twenty-four hours to do it, but I couldn’t do it alone. Dean had mentioned the Monument Hotel recently; now I just needed him to come back to the apartment.

  I was in the middle of pacing when he opened the door. He held up a brown paper bag. “I brought us breakfast.” His expression changed. “You okay?”

  “Yes, totally fine. Listen, I know how to fix this whole situation with Martin. I have an idea.”

  Dean stared at me, his expression still one of concern.

  “Will you help me?”

  He closed the door and put the bag on the table.

  “Dean?”

  “I’m listening,” he said as he removed packages of tinfoil.

  “There’s an auction tomorrow in Sonoma and Martin is one of the sellers. I want to go there and—”

  “I already know this isn’t a good idea,” Dean interrupted.

  “What am I supposed to do? Just sit here and wait for them to come for me?” I shook my head. “They killed Cooper, they killed Simon, and they’re going to kill me,” I said as my voice began to tremble.

  Dean’s face softened. “I’ll protect you. I’m going to work with the Sonoma authorities and we’ll get this figured out. But until then, I don’t want to put you in any more risky situations.”

  I sat down at the table and Dean sat across from me. He unwrapped a breakfast burrito and passed it to me before unwrapping his own.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But you can’t be around me every second of the day. You have your job and I have mine. I need to take care of this now. I can’t live my life in fear.” I took a breath. “I’m going to do this no matter what and I’d rather not do it alone.” I let a smile come to my face. “And you have to admit, we make a pretty good team.”

  Dean stared at the table.

  I waited, anxious to hear what he was going to say.

  “Okay,” he replied. Then he met my eyes. “What do you need me to do?”

  I grinned. “So you’ll help me?”

  “Katie, I’d do anything for you. Don’t you know that?” His blue eyes sparkled and there was a moment of electricity between us.

  “Thank you,” I said softly. He had been so kind, taking care of me, letting me stay at his apartment, coming to my rescue. “That means a lot.”

  He started eating. “So what do you need?” he said between bites.

  “Access to the Sonoma Wine Auction tomorrow.”

  Dean paused. “Why do you think I can get that for you?”

  “You mentioned your friend works at the Monument Hotel.”

  “Yes. Trevor.” Dean eyed me suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

  “That’s where the wine auction will be.”

  “Katie.”

  “Dean, I need you to trust me.”

  “I do trust you. But if you want to get into the auction, couldn’t you just buy a ticket?”

  I glanced at my phone. “They’re five hundred dollars each.”

  Dean laughed. “That’s pretty pricey.”

  “No kidding.” It was money I didn’t have and I didn’t want to ask Dean for it. That wasn’t a good way to continue our friendship, or whatever it was at the moment. “Any chance Trevor could get me in? Get me a pass or something?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll check.”

  “Okay, thanks. And one more thing?” I thought about it. “I need the list of specific wines that will be in lot number fourteen. It should be public knowledge, but I can’t find it online. The auction would have that.”

  “I’ll call him and see what I can find out.”

  “Thank you, Dean.” I stood up gave him a hug across the table. On the spur of the moment, I kissed him on the cheek.

  “Wow,” he said. “You should have let me help you sooner.”

  “Funny.” I motioned to the phone. “So you’ll call him?”

  “Yes, Turbo. Downshift.” He grinned and picked up his phone.

  By the time we finished breakfast, I had an itemized list of Lot #14 in an email from Trevor. I sat on the couch and scrolled through the list on my phone. The first four bottles didn’t strike a chord. But the fifth one did. A 1966 Domaine Garinett. Expensive, rare, and one of the wines that received 100 points from famed wine critic Robert Parker. And also one of the bottles I had seen in Martin’s basement. But that wasn’t the only place I’d seen it.

  I dialed Paul’s number. He answered on the first ring.

  “Paul, it’s Katie.”

 
“Katie,” he replied, his voice different than before. Rough with an edge to it.

  “I almost have all the details about the Clair Bleu and Cooper’s death, but I need a favor first.”

  “Katie,” he repeated, “Martin called me this morning. He said he found you in his basement. You broke in?”

  Of course Martin would have called him. He needed any reason he could to stop me. “Paul, I promise I haven’t done anything illegal. But I know who killed Cooper.”

  “Who?” Paul’s voice was weak.

  I paused as I thought about how to approach it. I didn’t want Paul to tell Martin anything until I had a chance to ensure my safety. “I don’t want to reveal it until I’ve proved it one hundred percent. But I need something from you.”

  There was a long silence. “What could you need?”

  “Your 1966 Domaine Garinett.”

  “Do I have one?”

  “It’s in your cellar.”

  Paul muffled a laugh. “I believe you’re starting to know my cellar better than I do.”

  “Can I borrow it? I promise I’ll be careful.”

  Paul sighed. “Katie, I need to take a step back here. I’m out on bail for Cooper’s murder and now Martin says that you broke into his building. I can’t get more mixed up in this. I’m sorry.”

  The way he said sorry sounded like he really was, but it left me without the one thing I needed.

  “Okay, it’s fine. Thanks.”

  “Katie,” he breathed out. “Please be safe.”

  “I’ll try.” I put down the phone and looked around the apartment. I needed the same bottle Martin was going to auction off so I could compare them, and the only one I knew of was out of my grasp.

  A potential dead end. Just like when allergies act up right before blind tasting. Even though the sense of smell may be compromised, there are still other senses to work with.

  And then it came to me. I smiled. I knew who else I could call.

  Roberto was full of smiles when Dean and I walked into Grand Vino later that afternoon.

  “Katherine! I was so happy you called earlier! I’m so fortunate to see you so many times this week. And right before Friday’s auction. It’s eccitante, right? Exciting.”

  “I agree.” Though I wasn’t sure why I had said that. I had never been to an auction before. “Roberto, this is Detective Dean.”

  Roberto shook his hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you. Can I pour you a taste of something?”

  “No, thanks. We have to get back,” Dean replied.

  I knew it was a risk leaving his apartment, out in the public eye where Martin, Christopher, or Vincent could see me, but Dean was there to protect me. And I promised we would be quick.

  “You’re in a rush today?” asked Roberto.

  “Something like that,” I replied. I decided it was better to leave out the details. “Were you able to get the bottle I called about?”

  “I did. Just a moment.” Roberto walked behind the counter and pulled out a wooden box slightly larger than a wine bottle. He slid back the cover. “Here it is. A 1966 Domaine Garinett.”

  I removed the bottle from the box and held it up. The label, which depicted a vineyard, workers in the field, and trees, had been well preserved over the fifty-one years. “Wait, where did it come from?”

  “Burgundy.”

  “No, I mean where did you buy it from.”

  “Ah, yes, I checked that.” He thought for a moment. “A French importer in San Francisco. Very reputable.”

  “Not Trager Imports?” said Dean.

  Roberto laughed. “No.”

  I stared at the bottle. “And you’re certain it’s legit?”

  He grinned. “One hundred percent.”

  “Perfect. Thank you.” I looked at Roberto. “Are you sure I can take it? I would pay for it if I could …”

  “Don’t be silly, Katherine. I trust you. This is a loan. What will you do with it?”

  “I just need to compare it. I’m going to hold it next to the bottle being auctioned to make sure the other one is a fake. And I’ll do my best not to open it.”

  Roberto paused, a look of disbelief on his face. “Katherine, that bottle is worth six thousand dollars.”

  I heard Dean sigh, but I didn’t make eye contact. I focused my attention on the bottle. If I opened it—or worse, broke it—it would take me years to pay for it. But I needed to take the chance.

  “I’ll be very careful.” I placed it back into the box.

  Roberto slid the cover on. “Okay.” He handed me the box. “You’ll bring it back, right?”

  “I will. As soon as the auction finishes tomorrow. I promise I’ll treat it like my life depends on it.” And in a way, it just might.

  thirty-four

  pairing suggestion: white port—douro valley, portugal

  Made from white grapes and very different from regular Port,

  this wine is best served chilled.

  -

  Dean and I pulled into the parking lot of the Monument Hotel early Friday morning. The black wig we had picked up the day before made my scalp itch and even though I knew it wasn’t enough to disguise me from the calculating stares of Martin and his sidekicks, I had to give it a try. The moment they recognized me, I was in trouble. Hopefully the wig would buy me a little time.

  “You doing okay?” asked Dean.

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “I’ll be fine. I mean, I’m only risking my career, my freedom, my life.” I tried to smile, but I wasn’t as good at humor as Dean.

  “I’m concerned for you,” he said. “But I also believe in you. You can do this.”

  “Thanks.”

  I picked up the satchel bag containing the wine. The protective box made the bag awkward and I didn’t like it. “This isn’t going to work.” I pulled out the box and removed the 1966 Domaine Garinett.

  “Don’t you need to keep it safe?”

  “Yes,” I replied as I wrapped the bottle in my sweater and put it back into the bag. “But I need it to look like I’m not carrying anything.” I slung the bag across my chest.

  “Ready?”

  “Ready.” I opened the car door.

  “Please be careful,” said Dean. “I’ll be watching you from a distance.”

  “Thanks.” I got out and headed toward the side of the hotel, where the service doors to the ballrooms were located.

  As promised, a tall man stood guarding the side entrance.

  “Hi,” I said. “Trevor, right? I’m Katie, Dean’s friend. Thanks again for the list.”

  The man glanced around. “Sorry, Trevor called in sick.”

  “Seriously?”

  “One hundred and two fever. Is there something I can help you with?”

  I paused. “Trevor was going to let me into the auction.”

  “Guest passes are up at the front. Check there.”

  “No,” I said. “I mean, through here.”

  The man stared at me. “No one is allowed through here except employees. You want a guest pass? Go to the front like everyone else.”

  I was literally ten feet away from proving everything and regaining my safety, but now I was stuck.

  “Any chance you’re going to be taking a break in the next few minutes?” I asked, holding back my next thought about leaving the door unattended. I figured it was worth a try.

  He shook his head.

  If I were stuck in the Advanced Exam, unable to remove the cork from the bottle for the decanting, I wouldn’t give up. I would get additional tools. Because it’s not that everything in the test needs to go right. You can still pass when things go wrong, but you need to demonstrate that you can handle every situation and get it figured out.

  I stood near the side of the building and watched as guests walked into the entrance of the
auction. It didn’t start for forty minutes, but it seemed that most people decided to arrive early, and the attendants checked every single ticket. There was no way I could sneak in. But like everything in life, I needed to wait for an opportunity. And I needed to be wise about it.

  A few minutes later, I had it. A woman in her fifties struggled to carry two flower arrangements from her car.

  “Can I help you?” I said as I approached.

  The woman looked at me wide-eyed before relief flooded her face. “Yes, thank you. I’m running late. This day has been a mess.”

  I took one of the arrangements from her and shifted my weight to carry the heavy vase filled with red and white roses, gladiolus, lilies, and chrysanthemums. “Where are we going?” I asked, even though I knew we were going into the auction. I didn’t want to seem too knowledgeable.

  “Right in here.” She walked in front of me.

  A knot formed in my stomach as we approached the ticket takers.

  “Carrie, so sorry I’m late. Which room do these go in?”

  “Main room,” said Carrie, the attendant, as she glanced suspiciously at me.

  “Thanks,” said my new friend and she walked past Carrie. I followed only a step behind, not making eye contact with her.

  We put the arrangements on the table behind the podium.

  “Thank you so much for your help,” she said.

  “You’re welcome. Do you need a hand with anything else?”

  She glanced around. “No, I think I’m fine.” She looked at me. “You have a ticket, right?”

  I patted my bag. “Right here. In fact, I’ll go get my paddle now.”

  “Great.” She smiled. “Thanks again for your help.”

  I drifted away, walking slowly so as to not arouse suspicion. When she turned away, I stepped into the back room of the auction.

  Bottles and cases of wine were lined up, each one with a tag indicating the lot number. There were two other people in the room, a man and a woman, who stood chatting in the corner. I smiled and nodded and pretended I had an official reason to be there. I’ve often found in life that if you pretend you belong there, people think you do.

  I walked along the tables until I found the bottles being auctioned by Trager Imports. In the middle of the group, there it was. The 1966 Domaine Garinett.