While the two people continued talking, I removed the borrowed bottle from my bag and compared them. The vineyard, the trees, and the workers in the field all looked identical to the other label. Could it be that Martin’s bottle was actually a 1966 Domaine Garinett?
No. I had to trust myself.
I placed the bottles next to each other, making sure to keep Roberto’s bottle to the right, and stared at them, studying every little detail. And then I found it.
The label was placed higher on Martin’s bottle and the ullage, the level of wine, was high in the neck—not representative of a 1966 bottle that would have lost wine over the years. It was enough to give me the confidence to proceed with my next step. The step that could either fix everything or ruin it.
I put Roberto’s wine back in my bag and moved into the main auction room. It was nearly full but I found a seat in the fifth row, on the side. If Martin or Christopher saw me, they would have me removed, or something worse, I was certain of it. I kept my head low and didn’t relax until the auction began.
Thirteen lots were before the bottles from Trager Imports and several times I was tempted to raise my own hand. Not that I had the money to pay for the wine, but I wanted to own the bottles. However, I didn’t have an auction paddle and there was no way I could afford to bid.
The lot from Trager Imports began and I wondered how many of the first few bottles were also counterfeit.
“You’re not bidding,” said the gentleman next to me.
“I might,” I replied, not wanting to reveal my motives.
“Where’s your paddle? You can borrow mine if you want.” He shifted his number 55 toward me. “But you’d have to pay me back.” He grinned.
“Thank you.” I didn’t reach for the paddle. I didn’t want anyone to mistake my movements for bidding. I didn’t want attention on me. Not yet.
“Next up on our auction,” said the auctioneer. “We have a 1966 Domaine Garinett, which received one hundred points from Robert Parker.”
This was it.
I stood up, pushing down my anxiety as I did. “Excuse me, I have a problem with this next bottle.”
The auctioneer looked surprised. “Who is that?”
I walked down the side aisle, ignoring the tightness in my chest. “I know for a fact that this bottle is counterfeit.”
The auctioneer glanced to an official on his right.
“Sorry, everyone,” I said as I stepped onto the stage. “I know you don’t know who I am, but you’ll want to hear this before you bid.”
The auctioneer put his hand up for security, but I shook my head.
“It’s okay.” I leaned toward him and whispered, “This bottle is fake. It’s been doctored to look like a 1966 Domaine Garinett but it’s not.” I picked up the bottle from the stand and turned to the crowd. “The wine inside this is an Oregon Pinot and a recent vintage at that. The seller is trying to fool you.”
“Put it down,” said the auctioneer. “That’s a valuable bottle of 1966 Domaine Garinett.”
“Actually, it’s not. And I’m about to prove it.” I pulled out my wine opener.
“If you open that bottle,” said the auctioneer. “You’re paying for it.”
That’s when I felt arms around me. I was being tackled by security, or possibly Martin, but I hoped it was the former.
The satchel bag hit the ground before I fell on top of it. I winced from the pain but also because I hoped the bottle, the expensive wine I had borrowed from Roberto, was still intact.
“Give me a moment,” I said, my voice muffled from the stage as my cheek pressed against the floor with the force of my captor. “I can prove it. Just open the bottle and taste it. You’ll see.”
My arms were pinned behind my back and I was pulled onto my knees, the black wig on the ground in front of me.
“Just taste it!” I yelled. “Please, just taste it.”
“Wait,” said a voice from the audience. “I’ll buy the bottle. Then she can open it.”
thirty-five
pairing suggestion: icewine—ontario, canada
A sweet, honeyed wine created by leaving the grapes on the vines
until they freeze in the winter and then pressing them while frozen.
-
I looked toward the origin of the voice. There was Dean, standing in the middle of the rows, holding up his wallet.
“Let me buy it.”
“But sir,” said the auctioneer. “This is an auction. You have to bid.”
Dean looked around. “Great, let’s continue and start the bidding. I want to make the first bid and the last.” He glanced at me. “And then I want Katie to open the bottle.”
The auctioneer didn’t move. “But you don’t have a paddle.”
“Can someone get me a paddle?”
The auctioneer whispered to an official as I was pulled to the side of the room, the security officer’s hand still on my arm.
Four attendants moved around and one of them briefly spoke with Dean before he approached me.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
“Here’s your paddle and here’s your credit card back,” said an attendant as she handed both to Dean. The security officer dropped his grip on my arm.
I rubbed the space where he had held me. “Dean, you don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.”
“But it’s going to go too high. You can’t afford this.”
He looked at me, his blue eyes staring deeply into mine. “I trust you.”
“Sorry for the interruption,” said the auctioneer from the stage. “Now, let’s start the bidding for the 1966 Domaine Garinett at four hundred dollars.”
“Four hundred,” said Dean as he held up his paddle.
“We have four. Do we have five?”
My heart pounded as Dean continued to bid, battling against one other bidder. I didn’t think anyone would want to bid on it, knowing there was a chance it was counterfeit. I glanced around Dean to see who it was, but I didn’t recognize the bidder.
Dean raised his paddle and bid again. It continued this way until there was silence.
“Going,” said the auctioneer. “Going, gone. Sold!” The auctioneer banged his gavel. “For four thousand five hundred to, um, what’s your name?”
“Dean.”
“To Dean.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “And now I would like Katie to open it.”
“This isn’t part of the agenda,” said the auctioneer.
“It will only take a moment,” I replied as I climbed onto the stage and picked up the bottle. I turned to the room of two hundred people. Martin walked in and stood against the back wall. He scowled at me.
As I held up the wine, Martin removed his cell phone from his pocket and started scrolling through it. I had minutes, if that, to prove my point before one of his crooked employees arrived, if they weren’t already here.
“You know the seller is Martin Trager but what you don’t know is that Trager Imports has been counterfeiting wines. The 1975 Chateau Clair Bleu purchased by Paul Rafferty two weeks ago was a fake.” I held up the bottle. “And this one is, too.”
I took out my wine opener and tried to cut off the foil, but it was dull from the window. I continued and though the line was ragged, I was able to make a cut all the way around the neck of the bottle.
The crowd began to whisper but I pressed on, revealing the top of the cork. It looked strong, a confirmation of my suspicions that I was correct.
“This cork should be fifty-one years old, yet it appears to be in great condition. As if it were new. You’ll see. I don’t even need an ah-so for this.” I inserted my opener into the cork as flashbulbs from the media went off.
This was the moment I could lose everything: my job, my reputation, and a massive
amount of money to pay Dean back for the bottle. Money that I didn’t have. But I knew I was right. I safely removed the cork and my fears subsided. The entire cork was in excellent condition.
“See, the thing is, they think no one will ever open these bottles. Most of the time they’re bought to be kept as trophies, special mementos to remain in the cellars and never opened.” I motioned to Dean, who stepped onto the stage and handed me a glass before returning to the side.
I poured a good amount and held up the glass, the red wine shining in the indoor light. The rim wasn’t faded; it was strong like a new wine and it lacked the slight orange color found in an older Pinot Noir. I put the glass to my lips and in front of an audience of two hundred people waiting to see if I had ruined my career, I sipped the wine.
There it was, the familiar taste of peppery Pinot. I was right.
I held up the bottle and the glass. “This wine has all the clear indicators of a recent vintage. Not one from 1966. I know that if you proceed to test this wine, you will find that it comes from an Oregon winery owned by Martin Trager. And furthermore, you’ll find that it’s been tampered with, adding who knows what to make it resemble a 1966 Domaine Garinett.”
Someone from the audience began to clap. I looked up and there was Martin, standing in the middle of the aisle, his hands together. “Nice try, Katie. Sorry about this folks, but you’ve just heard a lie from someone who attacked me, broke into my cellar, and killed my employee Simon. Don’t put any worth into what she’s saying. Now, if we can get security to remove her, we can continue with the auction.”
“No,” I replied. “I’m right. If someone will come up here and taste this wine, they will know I’m telling the truth. Someone who’s experienced with older wines.”
No one moved.
“Please. I need one person to confirm this.” I looked out at the crowd and then at the auctioneer.
“Please,” I repeated. It sounded like I was pleading, and perhaps I was.
The auctioneer hesitated and then took my glass. He stared at the wine, glanced out at the crowd, and then swirled, sniffed, and sipped it.
My heart pounded in my chest as I waited for him to announce his conclusion. If he didn’t agree with me, I was sunk.
He leaned into the microphone. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but she’s right. This wine is counterfeit.”
A gasp rippled throughout the audience.
Martin turned and walked to the back door, but Dean was there, handcuffs in hand.
I looked at the bottle, my hand trembling as I held it. Wines like these were not made to be opened. And this one never would have been if it weren’t for me.
thirty-six
pairing suggestion: vin santo—tuscany, italy
A caramel-flavored dessert wine made by laying grapes
on mats to dry for many months.
-
After Dean drove Martin away in the squad car, I returned to the ballroom. The excitement had died down and after a fifteen-minute recess, the auction resumed. I waited in the back as bottles reached price tags into the thousands.
Someone stood up and shuffled along the row. It was Paul. He reached the aisle and walked toward me.
“Katie,” he said as he approached.
“Paul, I didn’t know you were here.”
“It’s a wine auction. Of course I’m here,” he said, followed by his familiar cough.
The auctioneer looked at us.
“Let’s go in the other room,” I whispered, and we exited into the hallway. “Since you’re here, I’m assuming you saw everything. With Martin, I mean.”
Paul nodded. “Yes,” he said as he closed his eyes. “I saw it all.”
“I’m really sorry that it was Martin all along,” I said. “I know that has to be tough.”
He paused. “Sometimes,” he finally said, “you don’t know who you can trust. Even a best friend.” He looked crestfallen and tired. “I’m so sorry I put you in danger.”
“It’s okay. I’m glad I was able to help you.” I motioned to the bottle he held in his left hand. “What did you buy? Was that from today?”
“Oh yes, this.” Paul lifted the bottle and showed it to me. It was a 1975 Chateau Clair Bleu. “It happened earlier.”
I had been so focused on the 1966 Domaine Garinett, I hadn’t even noticed that a 1975 Chateau Clair Bleu was on the auction list.
“Paul, I’m so happy for you.”
“There was no bidding war this time either. I bought it for only eight thousand dollars.” Paul beamed. “It’s real this time. The seller is very reputable and the bottle has been traced directly back to Chateau Clair Bleu. There are papers to prove it.”
“I’m glad, Paul. You deserve it.”
He glanced at the bottle and then looked at me. “I’m still going to open it, just like before.”
I nodded. “After all, it’s been waiting forty-two years to be opened and tell its story. I know you’ll enjoy it. Perhaps even more so this time. Because you know it’s real.”
“Katie, I’ve been thinking. I could really use some help in expanding my wine collection. Someone who could help me track down certain bottles, and of course make sure they’re the real deal. It would only be a few hours a month, but I’ll make it worth your time. Are you interested?”
I thought about my job at Trentino and my study plans for the Advanced Exam. Then I thought about paying my bills and getting my car fixed. “I’d love to. Thank you.” I smiled as relief flooded through me.
“Wonderful. We’ll be in touch.” He coughed.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. Weak lungs, that’s all. I’ll be around for a long time.” He smiled and held up the wine. “Next week I’d like you to be the one to open the Clair Bleu. How does that sound?”
I looked at the bottle, knowing that it came from a reputable seller and would not only be a real bottle of Chateau Clair Bleu, but would also mean a great deal to Paul. “It would be an honor.”
“But no dinner at the house this time.” He smiled. “I’m going to bring it into Trentino along with a check for the work you’ve already done.” He perked up and looked toward the ballroom. “I think the next bottle I want to buy is up.”
“Go, go bid. We’ll talk soon.”
“Thanks again, Katie. For everything.” Paul returned to the room.
I hesitated in the lobby for a moment but decided not to return to the auction. It had been a big day already and I needed some fresh air.
I walked outside and saw Dean at the bottom of the steps.
“Hey,” I said as I approached him. “What are you still doing here? Where’s Martin?”
“He’s at the station with Garcia. I came back after taking him. They’ll want to get your statement after you’re done here.”
“What about Vincent and Christopher? Are you here for them?”
“No, Adams is picking them up at Trager Imports right now. He also said he wants to question Alicia.”
“Good.” I paused. “Am I still in danger?”
“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s all going to be okay. I just wanted to see you before you headed to San Francisco. I didn’t want to give you the chance to dodge my calls now that this case is over.”
“That wouldn’t have happened. Not this time.”
“I know, I know.” Dean smiled. “But I had to make sure.”
A breeze blew past us and rustled the trees around the parking lot.
“I was really proud of you in there,” said Dean. “The Palate.”
“Thanks.” I glanced back at the Monument Hotel. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you. And I’m sorry about the cost.”
“I’m sure I won’t have to pay. The bottle was counterfeit. Do you still have Roberto’s bottle?”
“I was thinking, maybe we could find you a job out in Napa?”
I smiled. “Actually, Paul Rafferty said he would love for me to work for him part-time. That way I could keep my job at Trentino but still get extra money.”
“Paul lives in Sonoma Valley, right? That’s pretty close to Napa.” Dean shifted his stance.
“Yes,” I replied. “Not too far.” I smiled.
Dean looked at me with a sheepish grin. “That’s good news. So the real reason I’m back here is because I wanted to ask you something.”
“Okay.” I waited as my stomach flipped.
“Food,” he replied.
“That’s your question?”
“Sorta.” He smiled. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?”
A smile spread across my face. “Yes, but I can’t tonight. I have work. I’ve missed my last two shifts and I don’t want Bill to give my job away.”
“Okay.” Dean adjusted his expression but his smile remained. “How about tomorrow? Or another night? I’m happy to take a rain check.”
I stared at him as the wheels turned in my mind. “This isn’t just dinner, is it?”
He shifted. “No, this would be a date. An actual first date.”
I stared at Dean, his blond hair swept softly over his eyes. “Are you sure? My job takes nights and weekends away. Combine that with studying and I don’t end up with a lot of free time. That frustrates people.”
He nodded as he looked at the ground. “You do have your job. And you are studying for your Advanced Exam. And some people might get frustrated.” He looked up and smiled. “But some may not. Some may appreciate the time they do get to spend with you. So …”
“So …” I said with a smile.
“Would you like to go out with me?”
I knew the answer already, though it took me a second to say it. “Absolutely.”
Uncorking a Lie Page 19
