“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?”
“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.
Chapter 18
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.