Silenced By Syrah (9 page)

She stood in the doorway to his office. He looked as tired as she felt, and an urge to comfort him came over her. If she could only let go of those urges. Why did this guy have a hold on her? It was maddening. “Hi,” she said.

He looked up from some paperwork. “Hey. How are you?” He stood up as she came in. “I wanted to call you or stop by and see you last night. Simon and Marco told me that you were the one who found Georges. I’m sorry. I got caught up with the police, and I knew that Andrés was with you.”

Sigh.
A little stab in the heart. Stupid, yes, but still there. “No worries. Thanks though. I’m fine. I guess shaken some, but you know it’s not the first dead body I’ve dealt with.” Okay, that was a pretty dumb thing to say. This man could tongue-tie her faster than a rattlesnake could strike its victim.

“Right. Sit down. Want some coffee?” he asked.

“No, I’ve had my caffeine quota for the day. Any more and I’ll be buzzing around here like a bee on steroids.” Dammit. Stupid metaphor. Think of something smart to say. “How about Simon and Marco, are they okay?”

“Not bad, relatively speaking. I know my brother is stressed about how this will affect our hotel and spa business. Marco keeps reminding him of their guru’s famous sayings and how neither one of them can afford to delve into that negative energy. I couldn’t take it. I had to leave and come into the office. I had coffee with them and we discussed how to handle some of the issues that might arise from this.”

Wait a minute. Wasn’t she a part of this place, too? She was Derek’s assistant and the winery manager the last time she checked. Her shoulders and neck tightened along with her stomach. “You three met? And discussed damage control?”

“It might sound crass, considering poor Georges, I know, but Nikki, we have a business to run. We had to work some things out.” He leaned back in his chair and took off his reading glasses. “You look upset. I know that you liked Georges. We all did, but you do understand why I had to speak with Simon and Marco about all of this and devise a plan, don’t you?”

That was
so
Derek. Calm, cool, collected. Yep. Mr. Rational. “Oh sure.” Her voice had risen an entire octave. “Business
is
business.” And then, Nikki did what she did in these rational situations. She became irrational. “But, can I ask you if you planned on including me in your damage control plan? Am I not supposed to be your right-hand woman? Oh, but wait a minute, maybe this is like you not asking my opinion about whether I might be interested in going to Spain with Andrés. You just, what? Figured I’d be dying to go, and that you’d be generous enough to give me a six-month leave of absence, as if I’m not needed here? Maybe that’s it. Maybe you don’t need me here.”

“Hold on a second. Stop. Where did that come from?”

“Andrés sprung his Spain plan on me and told me that you gave
him
the okay for me to go, and that you would hold my job.”

“Back up. First of all before you go into another tail-spin, let me assure you that I did plan on talking with you this morning about Georges’ murder and how we can handle what has happened on both a human level and a business one. This was a man’s life, I’m well aware of that. And, my first priority is to make certain that everyone is emotionally okay. Especially you. You found the man. I know that Detective Robinson had you cornered for some time yesterday and he can be rather unpleasant, as I also had the
privilege
of spending time with him. Honestly, Nikki, I wanted to give you a day or two to take time out. What’s happened here is difficult at best. You
are
my right hand and I
do
need you here. Simon called me this morning and had me over for coffee. He was losing it and Marco begged me to come and talk to him. Once I calmed him down, we discussed a few things and then agreed that we should all get together tomorrow, once the police have pretty much cleared out of here. They’ve told me that their CSI team should be finished by then and all of the interviews with the guests will be completed. You were not excluded nor did I intend for you to be.”

Insert foot now. Could she feel any worse? Probably not.
Schmuck.
“I’m sorry.” It was all she could muster.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, then twisted it. She heard it crack. “As for this thing with Andrés, yes, he talked to me and yes, I did tell him I was fine with you going to Spain for a few months. You’ve put some great marketing plans into play, things are running smoothly, or they were until yesterday, so I thought that maybe it would be a good time for you to go. Besides, I have some interest in Spanish wines and thought you could do some scouting for me, or perhaps explore the possibility that I could go into business with Andrés.”

“You two talked about doing that?” She was floored. Just great. Perfect.

“We mentioned it, and as you are my assistant, you could see how he plans to run things and if it might be a profitable venture for Malveaux to get in on. And, I know that the two of you have gotten quite close. Basically, what I’m saying to you is that you’re valued here, but Nikki, you don’t have much of a life. You work your tail off, go running in the evening, and then hole yourself up in your cottage. It’s been good for you, I think, to date Andrés, and he seems to really care about you. Maybe you should explore that further.”

Was he for real? Telling her to get a life? She never saw him with anyone, and if he ever went out, it was to a town council meeting. Maybe not, though. Maybe she knew less than she thought about her boss. If he hadn’t given her the brush-off before, he sure had now. All she could manage to say was, “Uh-huh.”

“Are you going to go? To Spain? With Andrés?”

“You know, I actually do think I need a day off to chill. You’re okay with that, right?” She decided not to answer his question, she was so angry.

“Sure. I told you so. Take two days. Why don’t we plan on meeting on Tuesday morning? Around ten. Here in my office? I’ll let Simon and Marco know.”

“Yeah. Ten it is. Thanks for the time off and for everything.” She tried hard not to sound sarcastic. He looked at her quizzically, but she escaped before he could question her.

She started to walk back to her place, but first decided to take a detour and go through the spa. If the cops were about finished maybe she could come to her own conclusions about how the killer got inside the spa. She couldn’t directly ask Robinson any questions, but she assumed that either Georges had been shot with a gun that had a silencer on it, or that pile of towels she had spotted by the French doors had been used to muffle the sound of the shot.

The police were still doing their thing and Nikki didn’t want any part of it. If Robinson was around, she certainly didn’t want to run into him. A thought struck her, something Simon said about not knowing if the French doors had been opened yesterday, and that the only way anyone could tell was if they stood on the hill several hundred yards away. The binocular part had been a slight exaggeration, which of course Simon never did—exaggerate.

Nikki went back to her cottage and got her tennis shoes off the front porch. Ollie was lying there doing his thing—napping. She decided not to go into her place, not wanting to get involved in another conversation with Janie. She wanted to see how far she would have to go to be able to see the doors outside of the bath treatment room.

She invited Ollie to take a walk with her. He thumped his tail, raised his head, and set it back down in answer to her invitation. However, after a couple of minutes, although she’d already told him to forget it and that she was leaving his lazy ass on the porch, he padded along next to her up the hill.

She walked through a section of Cabernet Sauvignon grapes until she reached the crest. On the other side of the hill a new section of grapes had been sectioned off. They were old Zinfandel vines—Nikki’s personal favorite. She loved the intense jammy flavors that red zins had. She stood at the top of the crest among the vines and looked back toward the spa and hotel. Ollie plopped down at her side. “Tired already? We only walked this time, we didn’t run! I think you need some more exercise, old boy.”

Nikki brought her hand up over her brow to shield her eyes. It looked as though the CSI team was packing up. She squinted. “Grrr,” she said. Ollie looked up at her. “Oh it’s nothing, just that rotten detective.” She’d spotted Robinson. What was he doing? Walking over to stop and talk to one of the CSI guys. The investigator looked to be pointing to an area over by the spa building. Robinson shook the investigator’s hand and walked around the building. A few minutes later he reappeared with a ladder under his arm and carried it over to his truck, placing it in the back. That must be how they think the killer got into the room. Ladders were a dime a dozen on a vineyard and the Malveaux Estate certainly had no shortage of them. Interesting.

If the killer used one of the ladders, had he posed as one of the workers at the vineyard? For that matter, was he one of the workers? It wouldn’t be hard to blend in, especially yesterday. There had been a lot of people celebrating the day, and employees were on hand, even pickers. Most people didn’t even go by the bath treatment room, as it was on the far end of the spa, as well as the far end of the property, and butted up to more vines. Maybe the killer didn’t have to pose at all. He or she could have looked like a maintenance person for that matter, trimming the trellis. But how would the killer have known that Georges was at the spa, unless of course he’d been followed, or it was someone who knew where he’d be. Janie knew. She had it written in the schedule. Baron knew because Georges told him, and maybe even Lauren Trump knew.

Nikki continued to watch Robinson. He got into his truck and started to head out of the drive. Nikki turned toward the other end of the parking lot. That was odd. There was a man standing there beside a white Lexus coupe. He put his head down when one of the investigators walked by. He then looked in several directions, almost as if he were nervous. Was the guy a cop? Nikki walked in a bit where she could still see the area without losing the man by the Lexus. As Robinson pulled by him, the man waved him down and walked over to the driver’s side window. Who was it? What was he doing? They looked to be talking. Nikki got even closer. A couple of minutes later Robinson drove away and the man turned back around. Nikki finally got a decent look at the man—Rick Moran, Georges’ accountant and financial advisor. What was he snooping around for? And, why was he acting so nervous? Obviously he had some interest in speaking with Robinson. Was it in regard to the ladder? Nikki didn’t know, but she was determined to find out, and she put herself into a jog on her way back down the hill. Reaching the bottom, she saw Moran get into his Lexus.
Crap!
She sprinted to her Camry and quickly got behind the wheel. She had a feeling Moran was up to something, and she was going to follow him. Maybe he’d lead her to some answers about who killed Georges.

Chapter 8

Nikki jammed her car into reverse; dust kicked up behind her as she made tracks. Moran was probably about a mile ahead of her by now. In her rearview mirror she saw Ollie through the haze of dust, looking forlorn and confused. They’d run at full speed down the hill. She was certain he’d expected to go on this ride with her. “Sorry, boy, you’re better off lying under an olive tree than chasing after suspicious financial advisors.”

Ah, there was the white Lexus up ahead, just around the bend. Nikki backed off on the accelerator. She’d have to keep a decent distance for him not to notice, plus speeding through wine country was highly inadvisable. She’d watched him head toward Oak Knoll Avenue off the Silver-ado Trail. They turned right onto Trancas Street and then left onto Soscol Avenue, which would turn into the Napa Vallejo Highway. Before long the Lexus was turning onto California 29 and heading south, turning into Sonoma Boulevard. As she watched him make the sharp left turn on Marine World Parkway off Sonoma Boulevard and then take the I-80 exit toward San Francisco, she figured that’s where they were headed. She decided to put the car on cruise control, maintain her distance, and turn on the stereo, while wondering where Moran was taking them. Her gut told her he was up to no good, and as they drove into the city her feeling was confirmed as the Castro District came into view. What was he doing here? A few minutes later Moran pulled in front of a rundown building on Ninth and Market—not the best part of town by any stretch of the imagination. It certainly wasn’t anywhere one would want to be at night, and the daytime was iffy as well! What kind of business did Moran have going on in the rundown tenement? Yep, he was up to no good, of that much Nikki was sure. She drove past him as he got out of his car. Thank God for her inconspicuous Camry. She went around the block and searched for a place to park. She didn’t want to get out of her car, not in this ’hood.

Was Moran down here buying drugs? Maybe that was it. He’d appeared nervous this morning when he was speaking to Robinson, at least from what she could tell from up on the hill. Nothing was fitting at the moment. Nerves were one thing, but Moran smoking crack? Anything was possible, and if he was a drug addict, did he grow angry with Georges and kill him while in a drug-induced stupor?

Nikki couldn’t find a parking space, so she continued to circle the block, in a way relieved, as she really did not want to go into that building. As luck would have it, she looked in her rearview mirror, while turning right to make another run around the block, and saw Moran jog out of the building and hurriedly get back behind the wheel of the Lexus, a brown bag in his hand. Must be drugs. Had to be.

Nikki peeled around the corner quickly, hoping that he would not notice her. He did seem awfully distracted. He was hiding something. “Bad boy, bad boy, what’cha gonna do?” she sang.

She followed him as he made a right on Fifth and a left onto I-280 south toward San Jose, then onto the U.S. 101 south. At one point she got wedged between a couple of semis and thought he might’ve exited. She swerved around one of the truckers, who gave her a blast from his air horn. She waved. “I know. I know. Sorry.” Moran picked up speed. Had he spotted her? Hopefully not.