Ellen Crosby - The Bordeaux Betrayal

“That must have taken some time,” I said. “Not like breaking a store window and grabbing whatever you get your hands on.” I met her eyes. “They got the Washington bottle, didn’t they? I bet that was what they came for.”

Sunny smiled tiredly and lifted her glass. “A small triumph. We never brought it back out here. It’s still in the house. In the downstairs cellar.”

“Thank God for that,” I said.

“Do you think Lucie’s right and that bottle was what they were after?” Eli asked. “When they couldn’t find it, they took all the other stuff?”

“I don’t know. This seems like it was well planned. Almost like they had a list. Most people wouldn’t know the difference between a California cult wine like Screaming Eagle and a bottle of Château Mouthwash. These guys did. One of them must have been a wine expert,” Sunny said.

Or maybe someone who bought rare wines for wealthy clients. Hadn’t Quinn said Nicole was involved in Alan Cantor’s embezzlement scheme? Where had she been last night after her dinner with Mick?

“Did Jack get a chance to see any of the robbers? Any idea how many there were?” I asked.

“No and no,” Sunny said.

“Do you know how it happened?” Eli asked.

“Sorry.” She shook her head. “Jack stayed downstairs to watch the news at eleven and I went to bed. All of a sudden I woke up and he wasn’t there. When I went down to check on him, he wasn’t in the house. So I figured maybe he’d come here. I found him lying by the door.” She picked up her glass and drank with an unsteady hand. “Unconscious but still breathing.”

“What time was this?” I asked.

“I guess around midnight.”

“You called 911?” Eli said.

“An ambulance and a couple of deputies from the sheriff’s department came right away.”

I got up and walked over to the door, running my fingers over the new keypad that was part of what Eli had said was a state-of-the-art security system. “How did they get in with all this high-tech stuff?”

Sunny sighed. “It’s not hooked up yet. Isn’t that the ultimate irony? For years all we had was an old-fashioned lock that Jack bought at the hardware store. Then a few days before we get a new security system put in, we’re robbed.”

“Eli said Jack was worried about some wine thefts out in California,” I said.

“That’s not all. Jack pays a king’s ransom in insurance for this collection,” she said. “The problem is that over the years, we’ve been drinking some of it and he’s been buying more wine. At some point he lost track of how much it was all worth at today’s prices since he used an old composition book to record what he bought and it just got too time-consuming to continually update it. Shane finally persuaded him to put everything in a computer database.”

“So you’d know what you had and what it was worth,” I said. “That’s smart.”

“Yes, except you know Jack and computers. He still prefers a quill and parchment. Fortunately Shane offered to handle it for him. He told Jack maybe we could finally lower that huge insurance premium. Having the security system would also help.”

“How complete is the database?” I asked. “It’d be a lot easier to figure out what was stolen if I could look at that.”

She shrugged. “You need to ask Shane.”

“Where is he?” I asked. “I’m surprised he’s not here.”

“No idea,” Sunny said. “I called his house, his cell—even the store. Left messages everywhere.”

“Last time I saw him was yesterday at the Point-to-Point. He saved the life of one of Mick Dunne’s jockeys who got thrown from his horse.”

“I heard about that. I’m sorry I wasn’t there but the job in Charlottesville turned out to be as big as I’d hoped.” She flicked a finger at the room as an irritated expression crossed her face. “Look at all this. Stained-glass murals. Redwood paneling. Expensive flooring. Jack spent a fortune.”

“Mind if I look around?”

“Help yourself. Eli, I need you to figure out how to seal this door until we can get a new one. Otherwise, the wine will freeze with these outdoor temperatures and then we’ve lost everything.”

My brother took off his Italian leather jacket and laid it on the bar. “Can you get me a hammer, nails, and any scrap wood you’ve got lying around? If there’s some plywood left over it’ll do for a couple of days. I’ll put in a rush order for a new door tomorrow.”

I left them and made a slow tour through the cellar. Thirty thousand bottles was a lot of wine. Some had tags hanging around the necks; others did not. I examined the wines that were next to the empty spaces on the shelves. They were always expensive vintages. What surprised me, though, was that no bottles were partially pulled out. As Sunny said, it seemed the thief or thieves already knew where to find exactly what they wanted.

I wondered how late Nicole’s dinner meeting with Mick had gone. Had it ended with a businesslike handshake at the end of the evening, or had she spent the night in his enormous bed as I had done a few nights earlier? If she’d stayed over then she couldn’t have been here at midnight clearing out Jack Greenfield’s wine cellar.

I could either ask her or I could ask Mick. Or I could stay out of it because my real reason for wanting to know had little to do with her alibi and a lot to do with my complicated relationship with Mick and the fact that I did not like Nicole Martin very much.

On my way out, Eli was still repairing the door. I told him I expected him for breakfast as soon as he was done and promised Sunny I’d call later to check on Jack.

I suppose the old saying’s true that what the eye can’t see the heart can’t grieve for. But I no longer wanted to be blind about the kind of man Mick Dunne was—that women were expendable in his life and our relationship was based on convenience.

I got in my car and headed over to Mick’s place.

I didn’t see his car at the house so I drove down to the stables. Since it was Sunday, none of the horses were being worked though a groom hand-walking Casbah passed me.

“Is he all right?” I asked.

“Looks to be. Just checking to make sure there’s no soreness or swelling after nicking his leg yesterday.”

I found Tommy Flaherty in the tack room sorting out medications. He looked surprised to see me but said that Mick had just left for the house a few minutes ago.

Mick’s farm, like mine, was based around a private circular road that linked his house and the main stable complex. But his operation was much larger so there were other roads that led to the new winery, Tommy’s house, and an indoor training track for the horses. Since Mick hadn’t driven past me, he’d taken one of the back roads to the house.

This time the Mercedes was there when I pulled up. I saw a flash of a red jacket in the garden beyond the swimming pool. Though it was late in the season, a few roses still bloomed. Mick had told me once that this garden reminded him of a rose garden in Hyde Park, where his mother often took him as a boy. I walked through an arbor that, in spring, would be thick with violet clematis.

He didn’t see me so I called his name.

“What are you doing here?” He walked over, holding a coffee mug in one hand. “Is anything the matter?”

“Someone broke into Jack Greenfield’s wine cellar last night. Whoever did it took a lot of wine—cases, bottles. Only the best stuff.” I leaned on my cane, trying to steady myself and my nerves. I was babbling. Not a good start. “I was just there with Eli and Sunny. The thieves knocked Jack out and he’s got a concussion.”

He took my arm. “Slow down. I can hardly understand you. Let me get you something. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea? Coffee?”