A Sunny McCoskey Napa Valley Mystery 4: Lethal Vintage

by Nadia Gordon

  “You think he’s seeing someone else?”

  “I don’t know. There’s an old girlfriend he says is just a friend. I know they talk and e-mail all the time, and I think he might see her sometimes when he says he’s away on business. Whether it’s her or not, I just can’t shake this feeling he’s involved with someone else. You know me, I’m not a jealous person. But if someone lies to you, lies outright when you ask them a direct question…Anyway, that’s a problem I can at least comprehend and deal with, one way or another. Now there’s a whole new issue on the table. That’s why I called you.”

  Sunny sat up. “Well, are you going to tell me or not?”

  “Yes, I am,” she said with some difficulty, as though trying to convince herself. She sat down next to Sunny. “Last night I found something very strange. I probably should have told you before I even invited you here. I guess I’m in denial. I know what it means, or what I’m afraid it means, but I don’t want to know, you know?”

  “Not yet I don’t.” Sunny stared at her friend. Anna had always been prone to theatrics and drama. But now there seemed to be something genuinely wrong.

  “Last night, after we went to bed, I woke up around two. I couldn’t sleep. I’ve never been a good sleeper. So I got up and went into Oliver’s study. There’s a wall in there that retracts. Behind it is a big screen that’s hooked up to the computer and satellite TV. I was fiddling around with the buttons, trying to get the wall to retract so I could watch a movie or something. Apparently I hit the wrong button because a different panel opened and there were a bunch of little TV screens behind it. Feeds from surveillance cameras all over the property and the house. There’s one at the gate, one at the front door, one right over there.” She waved a hand toward the bed. “But they’re also in the guest bedrooms, even in some of the bathrooms.”

  Sunny remembered the big mirror in the bathroom and how she’d felt as if she was watching herself in a movie. “What did you do?”

  “I completely freaked out. I tried not to say anything, but I couldn’t. I woke him up. He was very calm. He said it’s just for security. Because he’s gone so much, and sometimes he lets people stay here he doesn’t know very well, and a bunch of people who clean and keep the place up when he’s gone have keys, and there are valuable paintings and objects lying around.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “It’s bullshit. I don’t buy it. Sunny, it gave me chills. It’s not just some rich guy getting his ya-yas watching people have sex in his guest room.” She closed her eyes and took a breath. “Sunny, what is your impression of Oliver?”

  “I’m not sure I really have an impression. I hardly know him.”

  “Sunny, please. I need honesty right now.”

  “Okay. He seems arrogant, but he has good reason to be. He’s extremely accomplished.”

  “And?”

  Sunny sighed. “There doesn’t seem to be much warmth between you two.”

  “Well, that’s the understatement of the year.”

  “What do you like about him, anyway?”

  “It’s hard to say. His…composure.”

  “Composure?”

  “He’s in such control. It’s like living with God. Everything he wants, he gets. He just makes it happen. It’s intoxicating to be around that kind of power. I can’t make a plane reservation without changing it three times. He’s my counterbalance. I guess, in a way, the same arrogance I can’t stand is also what draws me to him. He’s utterly confident. He is absolutely certain that he is right at all times, and he usually is. But that’s also what frightens me. He’s one of the most aggressive, shrewd, cutthroat businessmen I’ve ever known. Obviously he would have to be, or he wouldn’t be where he is.”

  She paused and for a moment the distressed look that had been on her face since they started talking disappeared, replaced by a smile as genuine and glamorous as everything Sunny remembered about the old Anna Wilson.

  “A few years ago, I helped him buy a particular painting by a very famous artist. That’s how we first got to know each other. He outbid the Tate. It was pocket money. And he started with nothing. There’s something thrilling about that kind of competence, but it’s also intimidating. And it gets old. It’s tiring to make sure you always have the best of everything.”

  “Maybe it’s the money itself that’s freaking you out,” said Sunny. “It’s freaking me out and I hardly know him. This closet is actually bigger than my living room. By about two hundred square feet.”

  “That’s part of it. If you can have everything you want, with no limits, ever, it ultimately starts to get a little confusing. Like, why me? And then you start to wonder if maybe you’re using up so much luck that it will run out. That maybe one day God will look down and say, ‘That’s enough for you, Miss Smarty Pants.’” She smiled wearily. “Anyway, all I know is I didn’t sleep last night after I saw those cameras. I couldn’t get back into bed with him. I pretended to accept his explanation, but my skin was crawling. It still is. I have to know the truth. I know there’s more he’s not telling me. I put my life on hold to follow him around the world and try to find out if this relationship is going to work or not. That part is over, I guess. I have to face it. Now I just want to know who he really is, and then I want to go home, wherever that is.”

  Sunny watched her. For the first time she saw that Anna was not just upset but scared. “Where do I come into it?”

  “I guess I just don’t want to be here alone with him. I hope you don’t hate me. I saw your name and all of a sudden you seemed like the antidote. Honest, real, straightforward, totally grounded Sunny McCoskey. I just needed a little taste of what that’s like, you know? You see through people like Oliver. I think I even imagined if you liked him, I’d know he was okay.”

  “I don’t know him. You know him. Is he okay or not?”

  “I wish I could say for certain. Last night I imagined all kinds of things, even that he might be dangerous. I’d love to just leave, but I can’t right now, not until I iron out a few details. You’ll stay tonight, won’t you?”

  “You mean for dinner?”

  “Or stay over until tomorrow? We could really catch up and do a nice brunch on the patio in the morning. It’s beautiful here in the morning.”

  Sunny hesitated.

  “Just think about it,” said Anna, “that’s all I’m asking. You can decide later. I don’t want to pressure you too much. But you’d be very comfortable. We have plenty of guest rooms. Everything is all set up. Franco is staying here, and so is Troy, and I think Jordan will stay tonight. I’d really love it if you did, too. This house is so much more bearable when it’s full of people.”

  * * *

  They walked down to the pool, where Troy had taken over as DJ and was playing music he had picked up “hanging out in Ibiza,” he said. The thumping beat was gone, replaced by a sweeter, lighter sound that went well with the fading day. It was pleasantly warm, not hot, and the light was soft all around. Jordan and Anna laughed and danced around in the grass and Troy picked up Anna and twirled her. He tossed her over his shoulder while she screamed and laughed. Her sweep of black hair fell across his chest and her long brown legs kicked the air. He pulled her around in front of him as easily as if she were a child, tossing her and laughing. Anna’s body still had the willowy resilience of a young girl’s, and she laughed and bounced like a plaything. After their romp they lay panting on the grass, Troy roughing up his mop of dyed black hair. They walked back to the pool to pick up their drinks and Anna seized Troy’s hips.

  “You are skinny like a lizard,” she said. “I’m going to start calling you Lizard Boy until you gain some weight.”

  Troy lit a cigarette and flicked his tongue at her. “You should talk. Besides, I don’t like eating. I could live on bubbly water and lime. I’d just get lighter and lighter, like the misty essence of a Tanqueray and tonic floating around the pool.”

  “How can you not like eating?” said Sunny. “That’s like not l
iking breathing.”

  Troy flopped down onto a chaise in his black T-shirt and jeans. “It’s kind of disgusting if you think about it. Sitting around chewing stuff up. All that salivating and excreting.”

  “You should take vitamins if you’re not going to eat,” said Anna. “Your bones probably look like Styrofoam.” She had a miniature Leica out, like a camera for a spy or a doll, and she photographed him while she talked.

  Troy offered a cheesy smile. “And you should tell your future sister-in-law her boyfriend is a retread before all hell breaks loose.”

  “Shh!” Anna ran over and covered his mouth with both of her hands. “Do not say a word about that. Not a word. Molly already hates me. Besides, it’s been years. And he seems to really like her. Promise?”

  “It’ll only be worse if she finds out you didn’t tell her.”

  “She can find out, just not today. It’s not the appropriate moment.”

  “Just tell her you’ve met before. You don’t have to tell her he was your boy toy.”

  “Just let’s not tell her anything today, okay? You’ll only be hurting her, not me.”

  “Why would I want to hurt you? I’m your bodyguard, remember?”

  Sunny looked at Anna with raised eyebrows. “What’s going on?”

  “Jared, the guy Molly brought. He’s an old friend. An old boyfriend of sorts. From a few years ago.”

  “That’s a funny coincidence,” said Sunny.

  Anna stared off. After a moment she said, “Troy is an extremely gifted artist. Oliver has several of his pieces. There’s one outside the house, near the entryway. Very phallic, but interesting. Did you see it? The Times gave the show a great write-up last year.”

  * * *

  Anna went into the house to take a phone call and didn’t come back. Sunny put on sunscreen and Anna’s white hat. It seemed like she’d been at the pool for days, weeks, months, and still a mild late-afternoon light prevailed. Franco the Sicilian winemaker had returned to his chaise, inanimate. His short white hair, nearly a crew cut, and black trunks reminded Sunny of Dr. Quest about to dive into the ocean to save Jonny and Bandit. The thatch of white hair on his chest stood out against the tan skin. He spoke to her with his eyes closed.

  “What about you, Ms. McCoskey, are you also an artist, like everyone I meet in California?”

  “I cook for a living.”

  “I remember now. The restaurant. In Sicily everyone cooks. It’s not a job, it is part of enjoying life.”

  “And are the restaurants staffed by volunteers?”

  “Don’t be a joker. You should get serious and go to Sicily. It’s like your wine country, but with history. Americans can’t appreciate history. It means nothing to them. A cook from California has no roots. You’re like a caveman—excuse me, cavewoman—who just discovered the potential of the wheel, while over in Europe we’re driving Ferraris since you were born. But our Ferraris are out of gas, metaphorically speaking. The energy is greater here. You should take your youth and your energy and graft yourself onto a place like Sicily so you can draw from deep down in the earth.”

  He rolled onto his elbow and reached for a pack of cigarettes. Everyone was smoking like it was the fifties and cigarettes were as good as vitamins. And in California! Where you can get arrested for smoking, thought Sunny, where no one even thinks it’s cool anymore, except maybe in the food business. Ironic that a habit known to kill your sense of taste and smell would thrive in the restaurant business. Of course, it was also known to ease the mind after the high-speed endurance test of a night working the back of the house. Franco offered the pack to Sunny. When she accepted, he pulled it back. “Don’t smoke. It’s very bad for your health. Seriously.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m an old man and a European. The rules are different.”

  “The rules are different for me, too, at least today.” She lit one and held it without smoking it and studied the pool, the white pavement, the tiny blue tiles shimmering under the water. “What would I eat in Sicily?”

  He lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully. “Nothing special. Marinated olives. Anchovies in oil. Eggplant with tomato sauce. Fresh riccotta with honey. Fava beans. Stuffed peppers. Cured meats. It’s not what you eat, it’s the total experience of a culture and a landscape that culminates in each bite. You could go into a restaurant in the worst part of town in Palermo or even over in Reggio Calabria, sit down at an old card table under a fluorescent light, and order anything off the menu and it would change your life forever.”

  “You sound like a man who misses home.”

  The music suddenly got very loud, drowning out whatever Franco might have replied. Anna came down to the pool dancing around, her head tipped back to the sky. She seemed high on something. It wouldn’t be the first time, thought Sunny. The girl always loved a party. She didn’t seem stoned. Cocaine, probably. Once there had been a rumor of heroin. Could it be true? Or was she just getting drunk? Whatever the cause, when the hostess started spinning in circles on the grass and laughing hysterically, it was time to leave. Sunny would wait until her head was reasonably clear of wine and then go. Tomorrow she would call Anna and apologize for not staying for dinner and see if she and Oliver had talked things through. She had a hunch they would. Anna was probably overreacting. A penchant for technology-driven voyeurism was the least of Oliver Seth’s faults.

  4

  The hazy orange light of sunset lingered over the pool and turned the lawn dark green. Troy Stevens sat hunched up at the foot of the chaise. “Don’t leave now,” he said, looking at Sunny accusingly. “What’s the point? You have to stay for the sunset. After that you might as well stay for dinner. If you leave now, you’ll get home to your lonely little miserable house with no one around to talk to and it will suck. Why are you in such a hurry to leave, anyway?”

  “It’s not miserable. And I’m not in a hurry. I’ve been here since noon. Anna’s not even awake anymore.”

  “Anna isn’t the only person here. Besides, she’ll get up for dinner. You should stay. We need you for ballast. You’re the only one who isn’t all uptight about something.”

  “What are you uptight about?” asked Sunny.

  “Me? I’m always uptight. I exist in a state of perpetual anxiety. But I mix it with perpetual torpor so I’m reasonably functional.”

  “Why do you live in Barcelona? You’re British, right?”

  “Guilty. Barcelona is a great city. Great art scene, great nightlife, good weather. Not like fucking London. I can’t take that freezing rain all winter.”

  “And you share a place with Anna?”

  “She uses my place as her Euro–crash pad. We used to live there together for real. Now she comes through town once a month, writes me a check, and opens her mail.”

  “You mean you were a couple?”

  “Two years.”

  “What happened?”

  “She met Oliver.”

  “You mean this Oliver?”

  “The very same.”

  Sunny took the bottle of wine from the table between them and poured herself another glass. He was right. She might as well stay for dinner. By the time she was sober enough to drive, it would be dinnertime, anyway. “Does Oliver know? I mean, that Anna was with you?”

  “Of course. I introduced him to her.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “So Anna lived with you in Barcelona until you introduced her to Oliver, who brought her back here.”

  “It wasn’t that simple, but that’s the gist.”

  “Somewhere along the way she dated this guy Jared, who is now dating Oliver’s sister. I guess it’s not that many men to have dated in a lifetime, but it’s a lot to have dated at one dinner party. It’s sort of odd that you’ve all stayed friends.”

  “We’re not friends. I can’t stand Oliver, who is a shit of the highest order in my opinion. Jared seems like an okay guy. I met him in South Beach at Art Basel with
Anna a couple of years ago. But I don’t really know his story.”

  “What about Keith?”

  “You mean Oliver’s lawyer? I just met him a few days ago.” Troy gave her a look, as if deciding whether to divulge a secret. “I’ll tell you something I haven’t even admitted to myself. Until I got here, I didn’t know she was shacked up with Oliver again. He’s bought a couple of my pieces, thanks to her, mostly. One just last month. The one in transit that I’m here to install, if it ever arrives. I thought she wanted me to fly out here to make sure he didn’t put it in the bathroom, and to do a little performance as the eccentric artist. That’s included in the price. Instead, I seem to be here as some kind of handler.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you noticed? Anna likes to travel with an entourage.”

  “And Oliver doesn’t mind. I mean you being here.”

  “I assume he doesn’t have a choice. Anna does whatever she wants.” Troy pulled himself up. “I’m going to go get a shower and change before our grand repast.”

  Sunny went in after him and stood in the kitchen, not sure what to do. She could hear soft exchanges from distant rooms, a door close, water coming on. The oven was on, baking a tray of herbed potatoes. Cynthia came in talking on the cordless and checked the potatoes.

  “Shower?” mouthed Sunny.

  “Downstairs,” whispered Cynthia. “Any room that’s free.”