Murder Uncorked (12 page)

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Authors: Michele Scott

BOOK: Murder Uncorked
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“But Patrice is a totally different person than my mother,” he continued. “She gave my dad nothing but grief and a sniveling, spoiled brat of a son who never appreciated how hard Dad worked.
“He always treated me a lot more like an adult than a kid, confiding everything in me, for the most part. He even saved me from boarding school after a few years. Patrice started sending me away each August to some stuffy boarding school back East with the belief system that children were to be seen, not heard unless called upon. When the winery started to make a profit, my dad put a stop to her sending me away. Then along came Simon to take her focus away from controlling me. Poor Simon. Guess he wasn’t what she’d hoped for. Serves her right.” He looked away forlornly and then back at Nikki. “You know, I’m not even sure what it’s like to be a kid. But you get over that stuff, I suppose.”
“I wonder if you really do.” Nikki heard the melancholy in her voice and hoped he didn’t realize that it was coming from her own memories.
“I suppose my dad must have loved Patrice to a degree, or he wouldn’t have been so generous with his will and stayed with her, but I think there was some guilt factor at work there.”
“Because she’d bailed him out way back when.”
“Exactly. I don’t believe that Dad ever had a real close relationship with anyone after my mom passed away. And, honestly, I have to wonder if I’m not following in his footsteps.”
“You can’t be serious,” she replied, beginning to understand the mystery of this man.
“I don’t know. Things sure went wrong with Meredith. I don’t know if I ever want to travel that path again. Apparently, she’s got her eye on Cal Sumner.”
“The same one who was trying to lure Gabriel away from you?”
“Supposedly so. I don’t believe that. Cal has tried hard to get Gabriel to come to work for him, but he doesn’t have much to offer. Frankly, I’m surprised at Meredith’s interest. Sumner isn’t the wealthiest boy in town. Nice guy, though. Can’t blame him for trying to steal my winemaker. He and I have even joked about it together. He’s not the first vineyard owner in the valley to do so. I hope Meredith doesn’t get her hooks into him. The poor man will be ruined.”
“If that’s the case, why does she continue hanging out here? Why not move out? She must have some cash from the divorce settlement. What does she get out of being here?”
“She’d like more, and she says that the bistro is important to her, claiming it’s her baby. Wait until she finds out that you’re her new boss.”
“She’s going to love that.”
“I don’t care. We recently signed the divorce agreement, after fighting for a couple of years over it. I agreed to keep her on, but her attorney didn’t read between the lines. My lawyer wrote in the final decree that Meredith could maintain her interest in the bistro, but it doesn’t say that she is to manage it. I’ve allowed her to do so because it’s never been a priority for me, until I started seeing the bottom line slip and got suspicious. I wish she wasn’t a part of any of my businesses. And before you ask, no, I didn’t have a prenuptial. At the time, I believed in everlasting love. Now I call myself stupid.”
“Sounds more like jaded to me.”
He laughed. “Anyway, Meredith would like to get a larger sum from me, but it’s impossible. We weren’t married long enough for her to collect alimony, and in this state, she can only get her hands on what I made during the year we were married, which I’m happy to say was the vineyard’s worst year in the last five. So the joke’s on her.”
“I think I get it. She hangs out with Patrice, because Patrice owns part of the vineyard. She buddies up with Patrice because, maybe somewhere, there is a benefit to her.”
“It’s got to be something like that. What I don’t get is what’s in it for Patrice. And trust me, after knowing that woman for about thirty years, Patrice is always in it for something. Those two aren’t Botox buddies because they love each other’s company. They’re up to something. I’d put money on it.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said it was like an insane asylum around here, were you?” And, now in some sordid way Nikki knew that she was contributing to it. She glanced down at her watch. “We’d better start back so I can clean up. Something tells me that workout attire covered in dust isn’t exactly appropriate for the occasion.”
“Why not? You’d make a scene. It’d be entertaining.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t think I want to be the butt of your evil step-mother’s and her protégée’s jokes.”
“We’ll head back in a sec. I want to show you something first.”
They walked down a row of vines and stopped.
“These quadrants of grapes will be harvested and bottled next year, and sold in our first Syrah. I am so excited about this crop, I can’t tell you how amazing it’s going to be. Vineyards are usually noted for one type of wine they do really well, whether it’s a Chardonnay or Merlot. It used to be, back in the day, that wineries did try to make as many varieties as possible. We do have a good collection here, but what I’m really working toward, is being known as the winery that produces big, bold reds.
“More and more, our reputation has been building with the reds, and we sell far more reds than whites. White wine became a big hit in the ’nineties because of the upswing of people watching their health, and nutrition starting to take priority here in America. People could pair the wine with fish or chicken. But now, the consumer realizes that red goes with everything. Like you did the other night. And folks aren’t so intimidated by eating red meats anymore. Steak is in again, especially with Atkins and the surge in popularity of protein diets. It also hasn’t hurt those of us who make red wines that the media has reported the positive health statistics among the French and other red-wine drinkers.”
There was something endearing and childlike about his passion for his life’s work. He reveled in it, enjoyed it. He walked the vines, and Nikki knew that at harvest, he was picking alongside his workers. However, Nikki could also see the difference in his philosophy in winemaking versus Andrés’ concepts. Derek loved and appreciated it, but the bottom-line dollar and recognition was important to him too. It was still a passion for him, only slightly different from the way Andrés perceived it as a passion.
“I would really love to learn everything I can about the process, what makes one crop better than another. I know a lot about the bottled wines already out there, but the actual day-to-day stuff that goes on behind the scenes in making the wines really interests me.”
“Good. If there’s anything I love talking about, it’s wine and the vines used to make wine.” He turned his head for a second. “Wait a minute,” he said, turning back to her. “Manuel, hey, Manuel,” he called out.
A worker a hundred feet or so away waved at them. Derek took her by the hand, as they walked over to him. “Manuel, this is my friend Nikki Sands. She’s going to be working with us.”
Manuel was strong and muscular. Although he looked young from a distance, his face bore creases from what she assumed to be the sun and hard work. He was one of those people whose age you couldn’t tell by looking at them. Somewhere within a twenty-year span, because, though he had a young man’s body, he also exuded a sadness in his deep brown eyes. Life had been difficult for this man.
He took off his thick work glove and shook her hand, enveloping it in the largeness of his own. “Nice to meet you,” he said in a thick Spanish accent.
“You, too.”
Derek pulled him aside and said, “I’ve got a box of clothes for your children up at the house, if you want to stop by in the morning. I also found some toys and books I thought they might like.”
“
Gracias, Señor
. You’re too kind.”
“Let me know if you could use anything else.”
The man nodded. Although he sounded gracious, Nikki also recognized that look of swallowed pride. Taking a handout was a hard thing to do, but sometimes necessary. Manuel didn’t look like it was something he enjoyed.
They started to walk back to the house, the fog drifting deeper into the valley. Nikki hugged herself, a chill seeping into her.
Derek took off his navy pullover and handed it to her. “Put this on.”
“Thanks.” She took it, appreciative for it. She pulled it over her head and that same woodsy, cedar scent of his from the night before hit her. She breathed in deeply.
“Manuel lost his wife and youngest child last year in an accident. She was driving to the school to pick up their other two children, and it was raining. One of the trucks that haul wines from here to a distribution warehouse hit a slick spot and collided head-on with her. Manuel hasn’t been the same since. I doubt he ever will be. Recovering from something like that is almost unimaginable.”
She heard the emotion in his voice and wasn’t sure how to respond. “That’s terrible.” An old memory stirred from within. She shoved it down. This was not about her trauma.
“It is,” he whispered, nodding his head.
They walked the rest of the way in silence, reaching the guest cottage. She wanted to tell him about her thoughts on Gabriel, the charm, Andrés, and the pack of cigarettes she’d found in the shed, but her instinct, which was something she’d counted on from the time she was a little girl, told her to hold off. Besides, Derek had been through quite a bit of trauma himself, and she didn’t know if any of it meant a thing, or if it was prudent to talk about Gabriel with him yet.
“Say an hour?” Derek asked.
“You got it.” She went inside the bedroom of her quaint quarters and put the “best friends” charm in the side pocket of her travel bag. Then she headed into the bathroom, stripped down, and stepped into the shower, wanting to wash the day down the drain, except for the walk she’d taken with Derek.
The steaming water hit her, warming her bones. She couldn’t help feeling anxious about seeing Derek again. And to think that only forty-eight hours ago she thought he was a man with one thing on his mind. He’d proven her wrong, and she couldn’t help wishing that he hadn’t.
Nikki needed to get it together. A man like Derek Malveaux would want nothing to do with the likes of her, if he knew the truth about her.
She sure wasn’t a blueblood. Hell, who knew if she was even pureblood? That was always the insidious little joke in her house growing up, although she knew they all liked to tease her, because it got to her, and her family loved to get to her.
The memories that went along with her childhood could still sneak up on her and hurt, no matter how hard she tried to shove them down.
What she remembered about that day so many years ago: the smell of bourbon that permeated the air as she walked into the ramshackle house off the dirt road; the ugly pair of high-water jeans that she was wearing that were nothing like the Dittos all the little girls who lived in town wore; her shoes with holes at the end of them because they were hand-me-downs and too small at that. Everything Nikki wore was a hand-me-down. She was the youngest and by no means her dad’s favorite, and therefore the last to ever get anything good, if anything at all.
“Where’s your mama?” her dad asked her.
“I don’t know, I just came from the school bus,” she replied in her six-year-old voice. She wasn’t happy about the bus ride because she was made fun of on the bus, as she was at home. The poorest of the lot in more ways than one.
“You don’t know, huh?” He held a drink of what Nikki knew to be bourbon in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The remote to the TV was in his lap.
He sat slumped down in a chair covered in burn holes from the constant flow of cigarettes hanging from his hands and mouth. It always amazed Nikki that he never burned the place down. There’d been nights when she’d been afraid to go to bed with Mama off working at night, and Daddy watching TV through drunken eyes. Nikki couldn’t remember the last time he ever worked, if he ever had.
“Well, I got me an idea where your mama is, and you know what, I’m gonna tell you,” he said slurring his words.
Nikki never liked her dad much. Sometimes he was okay and would once in awhile read a story or play around with her and her brothers and sisters. He played more with them than with her. She had the distinct feeling that he didn’t like her much, either. She made it a practice to keep out of his way. At least he didn’t hit her like he did her mama. So many nights of screaming and pounding and heart-wrenching sobs. Nikki would try to comfort Mama after he’d pass out in his chair. She never understood why they all couldn’t leave him behind. Nikki knew in her heart from the time she was a young child that none of it was right, and that there had to be a better way.
“Actually, kiddo, I’m gonna show you where your mama is.”
He stood up and grabbed her by the hand, nearly yanking her arm out of its socket. She let out a small scream. Where were her brothers and sisters? They should be home soon. They were all older and went to the junior high or high school. She hated that she got home first. Maybe Penny, if she got home, would help her. She was the nicest one, and the only one who ever stood up to Daddy. She was tall, kind of round and almost as mean as he was, but Nikki knew that Penny sort of liked her. She hugged her sometimes.
“That hurt,” she said in a quiet voice not wanting to make him madder than he was, because he was mad and she had no idea why. She was sure she hadn’t done anything. He was mad at her mama, but he also seemed mad at her, too. But then, he always did seem mad at her.

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