Murder Alfresco #3 (16 page)

“I never thought of it that way,” said Rivka. “You would be pretty nicely set up if you sold Skord Mountain.”

“So, the old man is looking a little better now, is he?” said Wade. “You girls think you’re dealing with a country bumpkin, but I’m a diamond in the rough, baby. I’ve got potential. This particular rustic behind happens to be sitting on a grape-flavored, dust-covered, poison oak and rattlesnake-infested gold mine.”

They fell silent while they watched the race cars round the eastern turn and head toward the straightaway in front of the grandstand. The thrilling, high-pitched whir of the engines going full throttle slingshotted past.

“Oh, how I love that sound,” said Wade. “Makes my heart go pitter-pat.” He watched the cars accelerate out of sight. “If you
think about it, a car has a certain significance in our lives. It’s your vehicle for experiencing the world. Like your body.”

“The rationalization process has begun,” said Rivka. “He’s going to talk himself into a second mortgage for a fancy sports

car.”

“As long as it has high clearance and four-wheel drive,” said Sunny.

“The automobile is a statement to the world about who we are,” said Wade.

“That’s true of every possession,” said Sunny. “If Rivka chooses to wear clear plastic sandals that are impossible to walk in but sexy to look at, it says that being sexy is more important to her at that moment than being comfortable.”

“Cars say more than shoes,” said Wade. “You change shoes all the time, but most people only drive one car.”

“But some people don’t care what car they drive.”

“And that would be evident by the car they drive.”

“Okay, what profound statement about my character does my car make?” said Sunny.

“That you are sentimental, resistant to change, and attached to familiar textures and sensations,” said Wade. “You like that truck because its windows roll down manually and the upholstery is scratchy. Of course, that wouldn’t be evident to everyone. I know you better than most. But anyone could tell by your car that history is more important to you than money.”

Sunny watched the cars come around the backside of the track and head into the hairpin. “I am not resistant to change,” she said. “I just like things the way they are.”

They watched the rest of the race and the next two after, then Wade slapped his hands on his thighs. “Let’s go find our boy Luciano.”

In the new car tent, Wade worked the sales group while Rivka and Sunny stood in line for espressos. Sunny dropped a lump of sugar in the tiny paper cup and stirred, watching the crowd. She recognized Dean Blodger before he turned around, and sucked in her breath. “Guess who’s here,” she murmured to Rivka. “Our friend the harbormaster.”

“The guy from the houseboats?” Rivka scanned the crowd. “Yep, that’s him. That’s weird. Why is he here?”

“Let’s find out. Wait here.”

Sunny surprised him while he was inspecting the hood ornament on the new Maserati. “Dean Blodger! What brings you out to the racetrack?”

Dean met her eyes coolly. “Same as you, I presume. Ninety years of fine Italian engineering.”

Sunny smiled. “I didn’t realize you were an admirer.”

“How would you? A five-minute meeting does not reveal a man’s soul.”

“Indeed.”

She thought of the taillights receding down Highway 29 early on Monday morning and the glimpse of the white truck with the Pelican Point Harbor logo on the door on Wednesday night. It had been accelerating away up the highway as she pulled up to the stop sign outside Wildside’s parking lot. She had convinced herself it was nothing, that she had been mistaken about the logo, and that it was only one of hundreds of white work trucks that must drive up and down the valley on a given day. “We seem to cross paths quite a bit these days,” she said. “For a guy from Sausalito, you spend a lot of time in Napa.”

Dean Blodger stuck his thumbs in the pockets of his khaki pants and gave her a smug look. “You inspired me,” he said, “with your commute from St. Helena to Mill Valley to do yoga with
Heidi Romero. That’s more than an hour each way. If it’s worth it for yoga, it’s worth it for a day at the races.”

Sunny felt a rush of anger bring the heat to her cheeks. She did not like to lie, and it was even worse to be caught at it. “What do you want?”

“Me? I’m just here to pay my respects to the trident’s marque. We’ve waited a long time for a new Maserati.” He pointed out the logo. “You see? Every Maserati bears the weapon of the sea king. With his magical trident, Neptune could control any body of water. The perfect car for a man in my line of work.”

Sunny stared at the harbormaster, searching his face for an explanation. Why was he here? Was he stalking her?

“It’s a masterpiece,” he said, standing back. “But you don’t seem much interested in cars, Ms. McCoskey. Why are you here, I wonder?”

Wade walked up while Sunny was staring at Dean Blodger, considering her response. Wade held his hand out and introduced himself. Dean reciprocated. They fell silent.

Wade looked from Sunny to Dean and back again.
“Vámanosf

“Lista.
Dean, I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Will you?”

“Bet on it.”

They met Rivka and headed for the car. “What was that guy’s story?” said Wade.

“I don’t know,” said Sunny, “but I think it’s time I found out.”

They had just enough time to drive home, shower, and change before dinner. Wade dropped off Rivka first.

“Don’t forget you still have to be Rachael Robinson tonight,” said Sunny.

“I know,” scowled Rivka. “My feet are killing me.”

Wade drove to Sunny’s house, where he kicked off his shoes and took possession of the couch. Sunny showered, then sat in front of her laptop in her bathrobe and searched the web for anything about Dean Blodger. Nothing.

Pea gravel crunched underfoot
as they made their way through the French garden toward the music and party sounds at Niebaum-Coppola. The winery doors were flung open and women in cocktail dresses spilled into the courtyard like bright flowers. Sunny and Rivka stepped gingerly in their heels. Wade stopped a server with a tray of sparkling wine and commandeered three glasses. “Ladies,” he said, handing them around. Another server came by with spiced tuna tartare with sesame on rice crisps. Wade popped one in his mouth and picked up another. “Nice setup,” he said between bites, surveying the scene. “Remind me to crash parties here more often.”

Sunny selected a crisp and the server moved on. “Ten bucks says the next tray is goat cheese with tapanade.”

“Worse. It’s mini quiches,” said Rivka.

“I hope you two are not going to pick everything apart. It ruins it for those of us who truly appreciate free food.”

“I’m not picking, I am merely registering concern. Fusion confusion leads to spoiled appetites, not to mention flatulence,” said Sunny.

“You’re right. I think it’s happening already,” said Wade.

“Please.”

“You brought it up.” Wade tapped his glass against hers, then Rivka’s. “Remember, you’re not food snobs tonight, you’re here to make me look like the guy with the well-endowed wallet.”

They mingled, introducing themselves to the other guests and mining them for useless details about where they lived, what they did for a living, and how they came to be sipping bubbly with the Ferrari people. Those they met worked for the big corporate sponsors, for various Ferrari and Maserati dealerships, or for corporate headquarters in Maranello. A group from a big telecommunications company were drinking martinis fast and getting rowdy, including a chorus line of young female executives in formal gowns who were linked arm in arm and beginning to break into song. “Volare” was quickly becoming the theme song of the night. Sunny watched for Ové and Daniela. She followed Wade and Rivka as they circulated through the winery’s gift shop, then made their way upstairs, sampling squash blossoms with queso ranchero, endive with blue cheese and candied walnuts, and skewers of chicken breast with Thai dipping sauce from the silver trays along the way.

“Thailand, France, Mexico. I’m so confused. We’re going to make it all the way around the globe before we sit down to dinner,” said Sunny, watching a tray of oysters on the half shell go by.

“What’s your problem?” said Wade, reaching for one. He knocked it back and deposited the shell on the next waiter’s tray.

“I just don’t understand what’s wrong with a sense of unity. Why do we have to be all over the map? What we are experiencing is a culinary cacophony. It’s like having a jazz drummer, a cellist, and the lead singer from Black Flag jamming together in your garage while you try to find a wine that goes well with all of them.”

“Spoken like a woman who hasn’t eaten toast and sardines for the last nine out of ten meals. This is a feast,” said Wade.

“Sure, you can feast,” said Rivka. “You’re not squeezed into a spaghetti-strap straightjacket. Guys are so lucky.”

Wade finished chewing the oyster. “You’ll never make it on the party girl circuit. You and McCoskey have the goods but you lack commitment. You’re going to be back in your jeans by the end of the weekend, I can tell.”

“Are you kidding?” said Rivka. “I’ll be back in jeans by the end of the night. This getup is a costume, Skord, not a lifestyle change. I have no intention of going around trussed up and hobbled on a regular basis.”

“I don’t see why not,” said Wade. “How old are you these days, twenty-four?”

“Twenty-five. You may recall the birthday celebration you hosted recently.”

“Right. I don’t want to be the bearer of grim tidings, but that twenty-five-year-old action doesn’t stay fresh forever.”

“Sun, when do I get to throw my drink in his face?”

“Soon. Or now, if you like. Wait, I’ll get a refill and help.”

“All I’m saying is, you girls don’t exactly work it on a day-today basis. Look at McCoskey. Who would have guessed she’d clean up so nice? She keeps that body tucked away like it’s a matter of national security. You think it will last forever, but let me tell you, when it’s gone, it’s gone. If I were blessed with what you two have, I know what I’d do with it.”

“I can just picture you as a woman,” said Rivka with a wide smile on the brink of tipping over into laughter. “Tux Robinson, hot babe. You would be such a slut.”

“And proud of it. I just hate to see all that potential wasted on jeans and work boots,” said Wade. “A man has a right to his opinion.”

“This from the man who hasn’t bought a new T-shirt since 1985,” said Sunny. “You sound like Sean Connery. What’s in those hors d’oeuvres, catnip?”

“All the pomp and finery is going to my head. It’s been a long time since I was off the mountain.”

They were examining the display of movie memorabilia when double doors swung open, revealing a dining room like the loft of a barn, with plank floors and exposed rafters. Tables draped in white linen were set with silver, china, and a sea of glasses. A server in white gloves circulated among the guests, urging them to choose a table and take a seat.

“Salmon salad with ginger and green onion to start. Sourdough bread. Sweet butter. Followed by filet mignon with baked potato and some kind of innocuous vegetable. All edible. Something-something chocolate with a streak of raspberry whatever for dessert. Inedible. Five large says I’m at least eighty percent accurate. Any takers?” said Sunny.

“By five large you mean five dollars, right?” said Wade.

“Right.”

“I’ll take salmon fillets with dill cream sauce and new potatoes,” said Rivka. “More asparagus. Mixed baby greens to start. With pickled beets. I’ll see your inedible chocolate-raspberry whatever for dessert.”

“You’re on. Those beets are wishful thinking,” said Sunny. “Wait, we can’t sit down until we find the Vedana people. I’ll watch for Ové. When I spot him, Wade, you pounce and work your charisma.”

“Check,” said Wade. “Who is Ové again?”

“The winemaker at Vedana. I met him at lunch.”

They lingered in the entrance to the dining room, watching the guests trickle in. Sunny spotted Ové coming up the stairs
with Daniela close behind. “There he is. The tall guy with the blond hair.”

Ové and Daniela hesitated at the entrance, scanning the roomful of empty tables and the people milling around between them. Wade and Rivka took the opportunity to stroll over and introduce themselves. Sunny followed, feigning surprise to find her dear old friends from Texas talking with her new acquaintances from lunch. Another couple joined them and introduced themselves as Bruce and Kimberly Knolls. Ové added that Bruce and Kimberly were the owners of Vedana Vineyards, and that Sunny was the chef and proprietor of Wildside in St. Helena.

Kimberly Knolls put a slender, bejeweled hand to her throat and opened her eyes wide at Sunny. “What a coincidence! We had my birthday luncheon there. Remember, honey?” she said to Bruce. “I told you the girls took me out.” She laid two perfectly manicured fingers on Sunny’s wrist. “Our meal was impeccable. Flawless.”

“Thank you. I’m delighted to hear it.” Sunny tipped her head at Ové curiously. “Funny, I didn’t think I mentioned the restaurant.”

“You didn’t. Everyone knows Sunny McCoskey in St. Helena.” He gave her a hearty wink to go with the smile he was wearing.