Silenced By Syrah (21 page)

“I’m his daughter. I know it, especially after he said so. I know it.” Janie wiped her face with the back of her hand. She reminded Nikki so much of a little girl at times, and then other times when she’d been around Georges getting her work done for him she came across as a confident young woman. Maybe that was because Georges boosted her self esteem—something a dad would do, even if he hadn’t let the cat out of the bag until recently—sort of like loving his child at arm’s length.

Nikki reached for Janie’s hand, her stomach sinking. The poor girl didn’t have a mom to advise her in these situations, and she glanced at Trevor, who also didn’t have parents. However, he appeared to be an intelligent young man—maybe a bit of an idealist, but smart—and he had his wife’s best interest at heart. That much was obvious. “I know, Janie. There is still a way to get proof though.”

“There is?”

“Yes. Your dad’s body will be at the coroner’s office for at least a week, I would imagine.” Nikki knew from Aunt Cara that it could take a week or two before autopsy reports were complete and the remains released. “Why don’t you call an attorney tomorrow and see if you can’t have an order drawn up for a DNA sample? Trevor, you probably know someone who can help. Don’t you? Janie said that you were clerking for a law firm.”

“I was, but with my finals I had to quit, and now I’m doing up résumés and am on the hunt. I flew down to L.A. a couple of weeks ago and interviewed with a firm there. Maybe I can call them.”

“I’m sure. What kind of law do they specialize in?”

“They actually deal in wills and trusts.”

“Oh. That’s a good coincidence. Call them tomorrow and see what Janie can do, if anything, about having a DNA test.”

“I’ll do that. It’s going to be all right, honey.” He put his arm around Janie. “Thanks, Ms. Sands.”

“Call me Nikki, please. Ms. Sands makes me feel old.” Nikki looked up at the clock on the wall. She’d been there an hour now and no Andrés. Maybe he
was
angry at her. She couldn’t exactly blame him. She excused herself and told them both to try and relax, enjoy the hotel and spa.

She got up and started for the kitchen. She wanted to see if Simon had shown up yet. An idea had come to her, and it would have to involve Simon.

Marco was putting another pizza in the oven and swaying to the samba music playing over the speakers. “Marco.”

He turned from the open wood oven and, after placing the pizza paddle down, he came over to her, grabbed her by the waist with one arm, and placed his right hand on her left, bringing them both up. “Let’s dance,
Bellisima
.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. He twirled around the tight quarters, all the while lifting her spirits.

“Excuse me.” Simon walked in and tapped Nikki on the shoulder. “Are you cheating on me?”

“No, I’m not, but he is.” She pointed at Marco. They all cracked up. It felt really good to release the tension that had been building over the last few days.

“You finally show up,” Marco said.

Simon did a twirl. “I know I’m late, but don’t I look hot.” He licked his finger and placed it on his hip, making a sizzling sound—so eighties, and
so
Simon. “I ordered this shirt from Saks. It’s a Prada, and look at my belt.”

“Hmmm, let me guess, the big
G
on the buckle, Gucci maybe,” Nikki said. “Two hundo for a belt, what would the Guru Sansibaba say?”

“That’s not fair. He’d say, ‘Enjoy your wealth and live life to the fullest, but give to others, too,’ which I do. Now be nice.” Simon walked over to the freezer and took out a bottle of Stoli. “Want a martini?”

“No thanks,” Nikki replied. “You know, Simon, since I lost all of my clothes and things in the fire, and you are such the fashionista, I thought you might want to go into the city tomorrow and help me pick out some things.”

Simon clapped his hands. “Duh. I am so there.”

“Wait a minute, what about the spa?” Marco asked.

Simon frowned. “But poor Nikki. She needs me, and this is our opportunity to get her out of those Doris Day sweater sets she’s always sporting. It’s a Wednesday, hon, middle of the week, and with the . . . You know, the murder,” he whispered. “Well, I don’t think we’ll be too busy.”

“True. How can I say no to either one of you? Go, go, and I will take care of things here.”

Nikki gave Marco a kiss on the cheek. “Grazie.”

She turned back to Simon. “Early morning, okay? I want to get there when the stores open. Let’s leave by eight and we’ll grab coffee and croissants at Bouchon first.”

“I’ll be at your door with bells on.”

Nikki went back to her stool in the wine bar and had one more glass of wine, hoping Andrés would show. Trevor and Janie had taken off, and she sat watching Marco and Simon cooking in the kitchen together. Love was a wonderful thing. She felt kind of bad that she’d basically wooed Simon into going into the city under the shopping guise, but she knew if she’d told him the truth about what they were going to do, he’d have flipped out. She probably could have convinced him after he’d had his martini. But who had the energy for that? This way she’d have him in the city before she sprung on him why they were really there.

Margherita Pizza with
Serra de Estrela Spanish Wine

 

Pizza began as a small savory pie sold by vendors on the streets of Naples. The popular margherita Pizza was named for Queen Margherita of Savoy. As the legend goes, the queen was staying in Naples and was curious about this strange dish. She requested a local chef make her a pizza; he created a tomato, basil, and mozzarella cheese combination in her honor. The preparation of the various ingredients can give each member of your family a special task.

Pair the pizza with a Spanish wine made from Albariño grapes. The one Marco suggests is Serra da Estrela. This wine contains wonderful apricot flavors that are complemented with lemon-lime and a subtle floral accent. It’s a classic wine that makes a perfect match for Mediterranean dishes with green olives, garlic, and capers.

 

Spread the Pesto on the pizza crust. Top with
¹
⁄2 of the mozzarella cheese. Place the fresh tomato slices evenly over the cheese. Sprinkle with the sun-dried tomatoes, olives, and pine nuts; top with the remaining cheese. Bake at 400° for 10 minutes.

PESTO

 

Place the garlic in a food processor or blender and process until minced. Add all other ingredients to the garlic and process until pureed. Refrigerate, covered, for 2 to 3 days, or freeze until ready to use.

 

SUN-DRIED TOMATOES

 

Cut the tomatoes in half lengthwise. Place them in a circle on 8 pieces of paper toweling. Dry in the microwave for 45 minutes at 30 percent power. Turn every 10 minutes. Continue to dry at 30 percent power, 10 minutes at a time, until most of the moisture is removed. Store in a cool, dry place in a covered container.

Chapter 20

“You want me to what?” Simon asked. He and Nikki stood outside the building on Montgomery Street, where the offices of The Kingston Law Group were housed. Simon stomped his foot. “I knew it was too good to be true. You take me to lunch at that digi place on Nob Hill, and then buy whatever I suggest at Nordy’s—”

Nikki interrupted. “I know, and I love everything you picked, and I promise you I’ll wear everything.”

Simon placed a hand on his jutted-out hip. “I did do a great job, didn’t I? Maybe I should be a personal shopper. Oh, wait a minute, I see what you’re doing. No, uh-uh. I don’t think so, Goldilocks. You have been so digging up the dirt and that’s why someone started that fire at the house and now you want me to go in there and be someone I’m not. Excuse me. Hello!” He waved a hand in front of her. “Where is your common sense, girlfriend? Out the door, that’s where.”

Nikki let him rant on, knowing that before long he’d wear himself down and then she’d give him the one-two punch, which would send him flying into the offices of Kingston with her.

“This is not a good idea. Not at all. A bad guy killed Georges, now he’s after you and he probably knows you’re butting in where you shouldn’t be. Why do you do these things? God, what you must have been like as a teenager.”

Nikki nodded. “Yeah. Um, Simon?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “What would the Guru Sansibaba say about you not being willing to help a friend?”

“Oh, aren’t you a tricky one? There you go using my spiritual connection to get me to do something that is just so wrong. I’ll tell you what the Guru would not want me to do—lie.”

Nikki sighed and took Simon’s hand. “But he would also say that truth and justice should be sought, right?” That was the first swing in the punch. “And sometimes to get to the truth, there has to be a little tiny white lie thrown in there, right?” She squeezed his hand.

“It’s not a teeny lie.”

“Okay, it’s not teeny, but it might help me—I mean us—find the killer and see that the truth is uncovered.”

His head bobbed and he rolled his eyes at her. “You’re difficult.”

“I won’t wear any more sweater sets, like I promised, and then I’ll take you for drinks and a meal at another fine establishment. I know just the place.” That was the knockout jab.

“No more Doris Day, goody-two-shoes crap, huh?”

She crossed her heart with one of her fingers. “Promise.”

“Fine.” He blew a big breath out and hunched over as if he’d been defeated. “What’s my name again?”

Nikki went on to explain that Simon was to go into Kingston’s offices with her and they were to play the parts of Renee Rothschild and her assistant Scott Nielsen. She’d been busy that morning, implementing the plan she’d thought of the night before while talking with Janie and Trevor. First off, she phoned Rothschild Publishing that morning to let Scott Neilsen—Renee’s assistant—know that it was necessary to reschedule Ms. Rothschild’s appointment with Mr. Kingston for the following week as Mr. Kingston had to go out of town. Then, she called Kingston’s offices and insisted they had to meet today, as Renee Rothschild was leaving town on Thursday for a family situation and they
had
to meet before she left. It took some teeth pulling, but Kingston’s secretary said that he agreed to meet with them. Finally, she’d done as planned and driven into the city with Simon, shopped and dined and afterward spilled it all on Simon, who she knew would need some convincing but would come around. When it came down to it, he loved to play Rock Hudson to her Doris Day.

“Why are we doing this again?” Simon asked.

“Because we have to find out if Janie is really Georges’ daughter, and if she isn’t his heir, then we need to find out who gets Georges’ estate. It may lead us to the killer.” Nikki had to tell Simon about Janie. In order to possibly protect the girl, Nikki had to break her promise to her.

“Don’t you think that hot-but-surly S.O.B. dick—pardon my French but dick is the correct nickname for detective, especially for that Robinson dick—might have thought of this already and that he’s talked with this Kingston?”

“Exactly. I’m sure he has, and therefore, we are wasting time standing here.”

“I know the dick is, well, you know, a dick, but Nikki, why do you have it in for him so bad?”

“Let’s just say, and be forewarned my friend, that it’s never wise to tell a woman to chill, or back off, or to mind her own business.”

“Oh, I get it. He told you not to play Nancy Drew. He might be onto something there.”

“You’re on my side. So, shut up, and come on, let’s go. You can do this. You’ve got a flair for drama. You know, Simon, you remind me of Rock.”

“Hudson?”

She nodded.

“I can see that,” Simon replied and stood up straight, hoisting his shoulders back. “All right, Doris, I’m going in with you.”

“Follow my lead,” Nikki said as they rode the elevator to the tenth floor. When it opened, Nikki took a pair of glasses out of her Louis Vuitton briefcase—an extravagant birthday gift from Aunt Cara purchased while Cara was in Paris. She may not have looked quite as chic as Renee Rothschild, but she knew she cleaned up well when she put some effort into it. At Nordy’s she’d changed into one of Simon’s picks, a fitted jacket with a corset lace-up back and pencil skirt in a chocolate color with a turquoise silk cami underneath and a pair of slingbacks to match. Nikki thought poor Simon might faint when he first saw her.

She strode up to the receptionist seated behind a large semicircle light wood desk. A stern-looking dark-haired woman with a large face, but no chin to speak of, looked up. “May I help you?” she asked.

Nikki’s knees knocked together. What if Scott Nielsen or Renee had called back for some reason? What if the jig was up? They were here now and they needed to go through with it. “We’re here to see Mr. Kingston. Renee Rothschild with Rothschild Publishing and Scott Nielsen.”

The woman nodded and buzzed Kingston’s office, then let them in. A man, presumably Kingston, had his chair back to them and was shouting obscenities into the phone. He spun around. The receptionist closed the door behind them. He motioned for them to sit down. “I’ll speak to you about this later. Do not do another goddamn thing until we talk.” He slammed the phone down, his face beet red, his blue eyes practically bulging out of his head. “Leonard Kingston. Sit down, please.” He stood and stretched out his hand.