Ellen Crosby - The Bordeaux Betrayal

I met Mick’s eyes. His face was ashen but he managed to smile.

“Remind me never to play chicken with Shane when we’re hunting.” Amanda had crushed her racing program in her hands. “That was incredible.”

“Bloody hell. It was close,” Mick said. “I’ve got to go.” He squeezed my arm. “See you.”

“Your friend is very brave,” Pépé said to me. “A superb horseman.”

“You should see him play polo,” I said. “He’s fearless.”

Pépé and I left after the race. As we walked back to the car, I saw Shane in the paddock being congratulated by the other jockeys, grooms, and owners. I wondered where Nicole was. Maybe she really was done with Shane, as she said.

I got my answer back at the vineyard. Frankie and Gina had spent a busy afternoon selling wine along with two waiters from the Goose Creek Inn. Most of the tables on the terrace were still occupied but we were closing within the hour. The crowd would begin clearing out, though I knew many would linger as long as possible.

My octogenarian grandfather flirted with Gina while Frankie and I went over the day’s sales in my office.

“You all right, Lucie?” she asked when we were done. “You seem distracted.”

“I’m fine. Did Quinn stop by today?”

“No, and you aren’t the only one looking for him. Nicole Martin showed up. You just missed her.”

“She came to see Quinn? That explains why she wasn’t at the Point-to-Point with Shane.”

“If you ask me, she was just killing time. Said she had a dinner meeting with Mick Dunne later on.” Frankie raised an eyebrow. “What’s that all about?”

I felt something break apart inside me. “I saw him at Glenwood and he told me he had a business dinner this evening.” I tried to sound nonchalant. “He’s planning on hiring her. Wants her to find him some out-of-this-world vintages for his collection.”

Frankie eyed me. I hadn’t fooled her. “Sorry, hon. She wasn’t dressed for business.”

I gave up the pretense. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

“Okay, she was wearing sackcloth and ashes and she looked like hell. Feel better?”

“No.”

“I thought it wasn’t that serious between you and Mick. You both seem sort of loosey-goosey about your relationship. Besides, if you ask me, he’s nothing but heartache. Too selfish to commit to anyone.”

I picked up her stack of sales receipts and straightened them so the edges were aligned to perfection. “Sometimes he reminds me of Leland the way he acts around women.”

Although my father’s indiscretions had been conducted away from home, I’d found out about them after he died. When I looked back, his laissez-faire attitude toward his wife and children probably explained why my mother had thrown herself into working so hard at the vineyard. And why she’d filled the void in her marriage with a close—and romantic—relationship with my late godfather.

As Tolstoy said, every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. Mine had parents who remained married and in love—except they were in love with other people.

Frankie shrugged. “I didn’t know your father, but you deserve better than a guy whose leitmotif is that it’s all about the thrill of the hunt. On and off a horse.”

That night at dinner Pépé ordered a spectacular bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild to go with our meal. “When I drink wine my pain is driven away and my dark thoughts fly to the ocean winds,” wrote Anacreon, one of the ancient Greek lyrical poets.

I ate and drank with my grandfather and enjoyed myself. For the rest of the evening I banished all thoughts of Mick, dark or otherwise, to the ocean winds.

The phone woke me Sunday morning. I switched on the light and looked at the clock. Six a.m. The caller ID display showed Eli’s home number.

I picked up. “What’s wrong, Eli? Everything okay with Hope and Brandi?”

“Luce. Glad I got you. The girls are fine. At my in-laws for the weekend.” He sounded tense. “I just got a call from Sunny Greenfield. Someone broke into Jack’s wine cellar last night and tore the place apart. Jack heard something and went out to check on it. Whoever it was knocked him over the head and they had to take him to Catoctin General.”

I swung my feet over the side of the bed and reached for my cane. “Oh my God. Is he all right?”

“He’ll be okay but he’s got a huge bump on his noggin and a mild concussion, according to Sunny. They just got back from the hospital. Sunny said the sheriff’s deputies left a while ago but would be back later. She asked if I could drop by and look at the damage. I thought maybe you could come, too.”

“You mean, right now?”

“Why not?” he said. “She can’t get the door to close so I’ll try to fix it temporarily, but I could use you to see what’s what with his wine collection. Jack’s in no shape. Besides, you’re up, aren’t you?”

Thanks to him I was. “Give me half an hour to change and get over there. Maybe afterward you could come back for breakfast. Pépé’s been here since Tuesday. You really ought to see him.”

He made a noise like air leaving a tire. “I know, I know. It’s been on my calendar to call or drop by, but I’m just so damn busy all the time.”

“Well, you can drop by this morning. I know I can tempt you with breakfast, especially if you’re on your own.”

“Is that a dig about my weight?”

“No, it’s a dig about your calendar. I’ve got to get dressed. See you there.”

Eli’s Jaguar was already parked in the Greenfields’ driveway when I arrived just after six-thirty. We’d had the first hard freeze last night and the landscape, before the sun came up, glittered like diamonds.

The door to Jack’s wine cellar was ajar, as Eli had said. It looked like an animal had chewed it where it had been pried open. Sunny and Eli sat facing each other on stools at a new redwood bar. My impeccably dressed brother had his hands wrapped around the largest size of a coffee-to-go. Sunny nursed a glass of red wine. I saw the bottle. Château Haut-Brion. She was drinking first-class stuff.

Eli turned around. “Hey, Luce. Join us.”

“Want a drink?” Sunny asked. She was dressed in a maroon velour tracksuit and white turtleneck under a Burberry trenchcoat.

I’d been expecting a cool reception from her since our last few encounters hadn’t gone so well, but just now she seemed to have forgotten the rancor she felt toward me. Probably the result of exhaustion and a couple of glasses of wine before breakfast, if the level on the bottle was anything to judge by.

“Uh—no thanks.” I swiped Eli’s coffee. “I could use a little caffeine.” I sipped it and gave it back. Something with lots of whipped cream and a shot of something cloyingly sweet. “Any coffee in that?”

“Bring your own next time.” He used his finger to wipe the place where I’d drunk. “We’d like you to have a look and see if you can get any idea about what’s been taken.”

I glanced around. My brother hadn’t been kidding about a first-class renovation. Redwood paneled walls and wine racks, slate flooring, and recessed lights twinkling like dimmed stars. It was laid out like a library with long rows of shelves, but wine bottles instead of books filled the diagonal alcoves. Except for the damage to the door, the place looked fine. The way Eli had described it over the phone I’d been expecting a mess.

“I’ll try,” I said. “I’m not sure how much help I can be.”

“Jack’s the only one who can really say what’s been stolen but from what I can tell so far, it looks like they went after only the most expensive vintages,” Sunny said. “Cases and individual bottles.”