Ellen Crosby - The Bordeaux Betrayal

“No, thanks. I’m fine. I’ve got to get home anyway.”

“I’m sorry to hear about Jack.” He still looked puzzled. “Is there anything I can do…?”

The perfect opening. “I was wondering what time Nicole Martin left after your dinner last night.”

His mouth opened and closed. He dropped my arm and wrapped both hands around his mug. “First of all, what does that have to do with Jack Greenfield, and second of all, what business is it of yours?”

My cheeks burned. “Because whoever broke into his wine cellar knew what they were taking. Sunny said it’s almost like someone had a list.”

“I see.” His voice hardened. “So you believe Nicole had something to do with the break-in. That she’s a common thief. My understanding is that she buys wine for her clients. She doesn’t steal it for them. Unless you know something I don’t?” His eyes were flat and expressionless.

I couldn’t tell him. What Quinn told me he’d done for Nicole in California had been a private confession. “No. I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it.”

“Can’t talk about what ?” Now he was angry. “Look, you come here more or less asking me if I slept with the woman to give her an alibi for a robbery. What the hell’s going on with you, Lucie?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I’m sorry, Mick. I’ve got to go.”

I stumbled on the uneven path as I tried to move away from him but he grabbed my arm again and this time jerked it so I faced him. Even through my jacket his fingers dug into my flesh and it hurt. He was angrier than I’d ever seen him.

“We finished dinner around nine. She left straight away. Satisfied?” He dropped my arm in disgust and walked back to the rose garden.

I drove home, my cheeks burning with shame and humiliation, but at least I had the answer to my question. Nicole Martin could have gone to Jack Greenfield’s last night after she left Mick.

I’d been evasive with him in order to protect what Quinn told me in confidence. In turn it had earned me Mick’s scorn and contempt. Indirectly, I’d also protected Nicole—the very thing I’d warned Quinn not to do. She had already betrayed his trust, letting him take the blame for something she did, and he was still paying for it.

Why was it that all roads led back to Nicole? Perhaps it was the feeling in the pit of my stomach—like nausea—that made me think she was as dangerous now as she’d been then. And that it wouldn’t be long before her whole house of cards was going to come crashing down on all of us.

Quinn was in the lab, working on more calculations, when I showed up in the barrel room first thing Monday morning. His eyes were dark and hooded and he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. Wherever he’d been and whatever he’d done, it hadn’t brought him any peace if his face was anything to go by. He’d probably spent a fair bit of time with his drinking buddy, Johnnie Walker.

“You all right?” I said.

His look said he appreciated my fine sense of irony. “Brix has gone to zero. I’m going to pump out the free run juice, then press.”

Since we apparently weren’t pulling our punches I said, “Someone broke into Jack Greenfield’s wine cellar at his home on Saturday night. Jack showed up in the middle of the robbery and got knocked unconscious.”

Quinn finally showed some genuine emotion. “Are you serious? Is he okay?”

“Mild concussion but he’s home. Eli and I went over there yesterday morning to help Sunny.” I picked up the paper with his calculations on it. Without looking up I said, “Whoever did it knew exactly what they were looking for. They took only the best vintages.”

He took the paper out of my hand. “She didn’t do it, Lucie.”

“She was with Mick Dunne until nine o’clock,” I said. “The break-in was sometime between eleven and twelve.”

“What was she doing with Mick?”

“Having dinner. He’s hiring her to buy wine for him.”

His tight smile said it was news to him. “I wondered how long it would take before they hooked up. Mick Dunne is Nic’s kind of client.” He pointed out the lab window at the fermenting vats. “As long as you’re here, you can help me with the free run juice. We’ll put it in the number-six tank for now.”

He left the lab before I could say anything and wheeled the pump over to one of the vats. I still wasn’t done with our conversation.

I joined him. “What makes you so sure she didn’t leave Mick’s place and drive over to Jack’s?”

“Because she spent the rest of the night with me.” His tone was matter-of-fact but there was still an edge to it. “Get me some clamps, will you?”

I got the clamps. It gave me a few seconds to compose myself even though it felt like he had just wrapped piano wire around my heart and he was pulling it tighter the more we talked. Nicole hadn’t slept with Mick. She’d slept with Quinn.

“If she was with you all night then I guess she couldn’t have broken into Jack’s place.”

He plunged a hose into the fermenting vat. “Guess not.”

“Wonder who did it, then.”

“I’m sure the sheriff will figure it out.”

He put a hose from the other end of the pump into the number six stainless-steel tank. “You think I’m covering for her again, don’t you?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. Come here.” He left the hose where it was and led me to the winemaker’s table. “Look at this.”

An elaborately carved pumpkin of a witch flying across a harvest moon. He pulled matches from his jeans pocket and lit the votive candle inside the pumpkin. The flickering orange glow made rippling shadows on a rack of wine barrels. He dimmed the lights and the effect was even spookier.

“Nic did it. And this one.” He got a second pumpkin from his workbench and brought it back to the table.

He lit the candle and suddenly an angry Freddie the Fox glowed eerily at me. I froze momentarily, staring at the menacing eyes and fanged teeth. “My God, Quinn. Why did she carve Freddie the Fox?”

“What are you talking about?” He turned the pumpkin carefully so he could look at it. “That’s no fox. It’s a werewolf. Anyone can see that.”

The blood pounded in my temples. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Lucie. You look like you’re about to pass out. You want me to get you some water?”

“No, thanks. I’m fine.” I stepped back. He was right. It was a werewolf, not Freddie. “Sorry. Of course it’s a werewolf. It’s very good. They both are. I had no idea she was so talented.”

He smiled ruefully. “Ever since she was a kid she loved Halloween. She bought these pumpkins at the farm market and brought them over to carve Saturday night. Figured I’d have the knives and tools she needed to do it.”

“You mind if I ask what time she arrived?”

He stared at me, but answered readily enough. “Ten. Ten-thirty. I don’t know. She just showed up.” He moved the pumpkins so they were next to each other. “She slept on my couch. Apparently it’s over between her and Shane.”

The wire around my heart loosened and I wondered why I seemed to care more whether she had slept with my winemaker than with my sometimes lover.

“What’s she going to do now?” I asked.

“Talk Jack into selling her that bottle of wine and wipe the dust from her feet on her way out of Atoka.”

“You sorry she’s leaving?”

We walked back to the pump. “Hold onto that hose, will you? Am I sorry? You must be joking. Nic still knows how to punch my buttons.” He flipped the switch on the pump and we watched the juice flow from the fermenting vat to the tank. “Hell, I’d buy her ticket home except I know she’s flying first class. The only way she travels now.”