Nikki scanned the vineyard, seeing a handful of workers spread throughout the vines. Someone cranked up a tractor in the distance. She thought her best bet was to walk toward the patio where the music was coming from.
Oliver followed at her heels up a set of brick steps and onto the patio. A dark-haired man in a plaid shirt and jeans was seated at a picnic table with his back turned toward Nikki. He was speaking into a cell phone, and the way his free arm was waving wildly, she bet that he wasn’t having a pleasant conversation. “I know,” he replied in a Spanish accent. “I was in Spain. I was unable to get the contracts dealt with. I have a problem here. I need to have these grapes harvested. Fine. Call me back.” He shut the phone and mumbled something in his native tongue that she was sure wasn’t a nicety.
“Excuse me,” Nikki said.
His head snapped up, and he turned around to face her. His plaid shirt was open and exposed a sleeveless undershirt that didn’t hide the fact that the man was built.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She stretched out her hand. “Hi. I’m Nikki Sands. I’m looking for Andrés Fernandez.”
He sat up straight. Nikki couldn’t help but notice his remarkable looks. Hazel eyes framed by a thick fringe of eyelashes, an angular face, his high cheekbones reddened by the sun, and a small beauty mark high on his right cheekbone. One thing Napa Valley wasn’t lacking, besides a plethora of grapes and fancy estates, was handsome men.
“That would be me. What can I do for you?” He faced back around at a bizarre glass instrument on top of the picnic table, sounding as if he had no interest in her.
Nikki knew she was going to have to try and give one heck of a performance, because she sensed that Andrés wasn’t the trusting type from the get-go. “I’m here with a new wine magazine coming out called,” she paused and cleared her throat, “excuse me, something caught in my throat, anyway the magazine is called the Vine Times, and I’m writing a story about the winemakers here in Napa Valley.”
He frowned. “In jogging shorts and with a dog? Don’t you people usually call when doing a story?”
“Yes, we do. But you see, I was out on a jog, and I passed by your winery here, and thought since you were on my list to talk to, I’d see if I could at least stop in and say hi, maybe set up an appointment.” She studied him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“Hi,” he replied sarcastically. He crossed his arms in front of him. “Nice Ridgeback.” He motioned to Oliver.
“Yes, he is a really good dog.”
“Your dog?”
Nikki nodded. “Sort of, kind of. Yeah. A friend gave him to me.”
“A friend? Nice friend. Expensive dog.” He smiled. “Not too many Ridgebacks around. There are a few Mastiffs, a couple of Dobies up the way, but I only know one Ridgeback here in Napa Valley.” Andrés pulled a pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket and put them on. “Why don’t you tell me the truth, Miss Sands?”
“What do you mean?”
Andrés pointed to Oliver. “I only live a mile away from Malveaux. I’ve even returned that dog back to their place a time or two. You’re not a reporter. This is a small valley.”
“Can I have a seat?” She motioned to the picnic table.
He shrugged. She sat down by him. “You didn’t buy any of that, huh?”
“Not even if you didn’t have the dog, but he makes it obvious.”
“And to think I’m an actress, or I used to be.”
“Not a very good one.” He turned back to what looked to be a science experiment on top of the wooden table. It was a piece of blown glass with a bulbous bottom and narrow stem. Liquid flowed down to the bottom and pushed the scaled numbers on the narrow part of the tube upward. Nikki suddenly realized what it was—a hydrometer used to measure the amount of sugar in must or wine. The instrument allows the winemaker to predict and adjust his recipe depending on the readings taken. She remembered reading about hydrometers in one of her wine books at home, but she’d never seen one.
“Ouch. Thanks. That’s why I said ‘used to be.’”
“Alright, Charlize Theron. By the way, how do I even know that your real name is Nikki Sands?” He waved a hand at her. “It doesn’t matter. What do you want, and why are you making up stories to get at what you want?”
She crossed her legs and held her head up high, flicking hair that had fallen from her ponytail out of her face. She looked pointedly at him, deciding total confidence would be the only possible way of getting to this man. “I’m considering taking a job with Malveaux.”
“How nice for you.”
“I’ll be honest with you. I’m the one who found Gabriel Asanti murdered.”
“Great. Did Malveaux send you here as some private investigator? Because I already spoke with the police. I didn’t care for Gabriel, but I didn’t kill him.”
“I’m not a P.I., but I am curious, and I thought I’d get an outsider’s perspective of Malveaux Estate and the folks there, plus Gabriel’s murder has me shaken up.”
“So you come talk to me?”
“Why not? I’ve heard all the rose-colored-glasses stuff from Derek Malveaux, now I want to hear if there’s any dirt. I don’t want to make a bad decision. I’m considering uprooting from L.A. and leaving family behind. This is a big deal for me. I wouldn’t have thought twice about taking the job before this murder, but now . . .” Half-truths were not half lies, but half-truths. From the look on his face, her acting had improved, because he stopped looking at her with darkened suspicion.
“Working for Malveaux is fine, I suppose, if you view making wine as only a business deal.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t be so harsh on Derek Malveaux, because I believe he’s tried through the years to maintain what his father started. I think Gabriel Asanti brainwashed him and the rest of the world into thinking his wines were a cut above the rest.”
“Are you saying they’re not? The man has won tons of awards. I’ve tasted his wines. They’re delicious.”
“The taste is good, I suppose. It’s the attitude that Gabriel had that angered me. Wine is not supposed to be about how much and how many. Dollars and cents, awards and kudos. That’s all Gabriel cared about. He didn’t appreciate the art form. He didn’t understand the beauty of the culture.”
Andrés was proving to be not only a recluse, but maybe a bit eccentric, too. “I’m not totally sure I understand.”
“How could you? Are you a farmer? Do you grow grapes? I would guess, no. You’re someone who sees dirt, soil, as messy, filthy.”
“You don’t know what I think.” Wasn’t dirt dirty? Did someone know something Nikki didn’t, because she’d been called dirt as a kid, and it hadn’t been used in a nice way.
“Making wine starts from the soil. It’s like a painting. The soil is the canvas. The roots of the grape vine are like a paintbrush. The grape grower, winemaker, all of us on the land here are the painters. Our product should be about divine taste and art and culture. The greatest miracle-maker of all turned water into wine. Need I say more? Someone like Gabriel comes along with his big-business attitude, and he dilutes the art.”
There was some definite deep-seated resentment going on within Andrés toward Gabriel. “I see. Gabriel didn’t take what he did seriously?”
“No.” He shook his head and grimaced. “The irony is that he won awards, he is known, he’s a superstar, when he doesn’t deserve to be.”
“Do you think you deserve to be?”
He didn’t respond right away. Nikki shifted uneasily. “I am a man, Miss Sands. Therefore, I do have an ego. I can’t say in all honesty that I don’t think I shouldn’t be a recipient of certain awards or cheers from the sommeliers and oenophiles around the world. That would be a lie. However, my ego isn’t about money or even myself, but about maintaining what I do as the art form it’s always been.”
“Big wine business has been around for years. Why the beef with Gabriel? Why
Malveaux?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because they’re the biggest, or maybe it’s because Gabriel Asanti liked to throw all of his accomplishments in my face.” He took his glasses off and adjusted them.
“That would be upsetting.” She wasn’t totally buying his reasons. There was something else going on behind those eyes as to why Andrés didn’t like Gabriel.
“Yes.” He turned toward his uncompleted task. “I think we’re done here.”
“Right. Thanks.”
“By the way, Detective Martini. . . .” He winked at her. “I think you’ll be fine working with Malveaux. Derek himself is a nice guy, but the rest of them are a bunch of lunatics.”
“You called me Detective Martini.”
“Yeah, I’m a bit of an actor, oops, I mean liar myself. The dog didn’t give you away. There’s a handful of Ridgebacks in the area. They make good watchdogs. I saw your show a few times. You weren’t really that bad. Also, gossip travels fast around here. Apparently, there’s a certain policewoman who’s a bit starstruck with you.” He smiled at her. “I’ve got business in town. See you around. If you decide to take the job, come down and we’ll celebrate with a really good bottle of wine.”
Nikki’s body grew warm as embarrassment filled every nerve ending, and she was at a loss for words. Before she could open her mouth again, Andrés stood up and walked inside the winery. Shaking off the feeling, Nikki started running, Oliver staying in line with her. When she hit Highway 29, she realized she’d forgotten to ask Andrés one more question. She wanted to know where he’d been the other day about the time Nikki spotted the disturbance in the bushes over by the pond. She turned around to question him about it.
Cresting the top of the hill and heading back toward the winery, she heard a car engine start on the backside of the vineyard. She watched, out of breath, mouth open as Andrés sped down the dirt road toward the highway. He apparently hadn’t seen her coming back up the hill.
Nikki hung her head and sighed. The rest of her questions for Andrés Fernandez would have to wait.
Chapter 8
Nikki had quite a bit to think about. Her scare in the tasting room, which led to the discovery of the charm, and now the bizarre conversation she’d had with Andrés that only led her to more unanswered questions, confusing her. Oddly enough it also set her adrenaline to pumping, as if she was onto something and it was exciting, in a weird way. She still had plenty of energy and a little time to kill, and as Oliver was still hanging in with her, she continued on her run after reaching the Malveaux property.
Rounding the pond, Nikki was suddenly aware of the morbidity that now surrounded the serene area and decided to take a rest. The Muscovy ducks that were in the pond yesterday, before they were scared away by the killer, had returned. They took to the sky as she approached. She thought about jogging by the site where she’d first discovered Gabriel. Maybe she’d missed something. Who was she kidding? Miss something? She wasn’t Nancy Drew. Hell, she wasn’t even Detective Martini from her defunct TV show. And even if she had missed something, the cops certainly hadn’t. They’d done their job. They’d been out there for hours. It was one of the reasons she’d fallen asleep so easily the previous night, because she knew Jeanine and another officer were still combing the area when Derek dropped her off.
But Nancy Drew or not, she once again went against her better judgment and coaxed Oliver along with her. He followed at her side as she headed back into the deep brush and twigs, again getting scraped and scratched, but driven all the same. She was careful, especially with Oliver at her side, to walk around the perimeter of the yellow police tape. She didn’t want to corrupt the crime scene in any way.
Nikki hadn’t a clue what she was looking for, only a morbid sense of curiosity. She sat down on a log outside the taped-off area. Oliver flopped down at her feet. Having him there was calming, and the spot would’ve been glorious if someone hadn’t been killed there only the day before. Something about wanting to enjoy the serenity and the beauty didn’t seem right to Nikki. More than that, though, something wasn’t right about the theory that Gabriel had been killed at this location.
Nikki watched the ripples across the pond, and the sunlight cast shadows around the area where the oak trees grew tall and thick. Then, it hit her what wasn’t right about Gabriel being murdered at this spot. She forced herself to picture him again in her mind—swollen purple face, crusted-over eyes, and matted hair. Gabriel had been dead far longer than mere minutes when she’d found him. He’d have to have been dead for quite a few hours, maybe even a day. She’d learned enough from Aunt Cara to know the states a decomposing body goes through. And when her bare foot had grazed his hand, his body temperature had been cold. The police had to know this information, and Nikki knew she should really leave it up to them to figure it all out, but maybe it was simple curiosity, or maybe some of Aunt Cara’s influence had rubbed off on her. Whatever it was, Nikki couldn’t help but be intrigued by the mystery of it all, and she had a strong desire to figure this thing out.
She smacked herself in the forehead. Oliver lifted his head and whined. “Don’t you worry. I may be slow at times, but when I get cooking, I start to sizzle. All we have to do, Ollie—you don’t mind if I call you Ollie, do you?” Oliver nuzzled her free hand. “Good. The next thing we have to do, Ollie, is find out exactly where Gabriel was killed, and how someone was able to drag him here. What is close enough, a place where other people on the vineyard wouldn’t notice someone unloading a dead body?” She turned her head from side to side, scanning the entire area, until she focused on what was exactly across from her, and large enough to block someone’s view—Derek’s house.
Yikes. She didn’t like that one bit. Okay, there was no way Derek killed Gabriel. She’d already decided to her own satisfaction that he was a good guy. He hadn’t been watching her from the stockroom, and he certainly hadn’t murdered his winemaker. No way on earth. If Derek’s place was the scene of the crime, then maybe someone had killed Gabriel and hidden the body in Derek’s garage. Oh, yeah, no garage. But wait a minute. Nikki’s eyes focused on what appeared to be a small toolshed, big enough for a body to be stored in, maybe even murdered in, off to the left of the house. Could the murderer have killed Gabriel in that shed?
“C’mon, Ollie.” Nikki jumped to her feet and sprinted over to the shed. Ollie outran her and headed for Derek’s porch, until she whistled for him. The dog bounced back to her side. Nikki quickly scanned the area and didn’t see Derek’s Range Rover or signs of anyone else. Even though she knew in her gut that Derek wasn’t the killer, he might not approve of her snooping around.
She pulled open the door of the shed. It screeched, like fingernails on a chalkboard. There was nothing unusual inside, just some tools and a lot of dust bunnies. There was a spiderweb that looked like it had been there for years, and way in the back there were a couple of rows of wine racks. She walked over to them and noticed that for the most part they were dusty, and a few even had remnants of a dangling spiderweb. She did notice that one bottle in the middle of a neatly organized row was missing, and thought that was kind of odd. A few other bottles looked as if they’d recently been fingered and turned around, maybe pulled out of their spot and the label read.
She walked over to the other side of the shed, rummaging around the wooden planklike table top that at one time could’ve easily been an area for someone to play fix-it man. “Hoo, hoo, hoo,” Nikki said aloud. Ollie cocked his head. She glanced down at him. “What do we have here?” She picked up an opened pack of cigarettes. Benson and Hedges Menthol. Wonder who smokes the ciggies? Nikki turned the pack over. She brought it up to her nose, smelling the tobacco inside. A couple of the cigarettes were gone. By the look of the pack, Nikki figured they weren’t that old. She wasn’t a smoker, but it wasn’t a difficult assumption to make.
After scanning the area of the shed further to see if she’d missed anything, Nikki decided to put the pack of cigarettes back where she found t
hem. She couldn’t help being curious about who they might belong to. Maybe whoever the smoker was, could also be the killer. Maybe whoever that person was came to the shed to plot, or had a smoke to ease their nerves after murdering Gabriel. Or they could’ve even hidden his body inside the shed until they could think of where to put it. It was something to consider.
She felt pretty smug with herself after her day at detecting. There was indeed, the possibility that it would all lead to nothing—the charm, her talk with Andrés, and now the pack of cigarettes. Or, the thought stuck in her mind that all of these little things could add up and lead to something or someone, and that someone could be a murderer. Nikki had the distinct feeling that she was getting in over her head, but she also didn’t want to go to the cops, not yet anyway. She was sure it wouldn’t be in her best interest if the police knew she’d been semi-conducting a private investigation on her own. Nikki knew that Carolyn Keene would be proud of her, as she thought fondly of Nancy Drew in her favorite in the series-Number 49—The Secret of Mirror Bay. Aunt Cara on the other hand might not be so proud of Nikki if she knew what she was up to.
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