I looked at the bottle. Jack Greenfield owned a couple of jeroboams of the Latour—I’d just seen them when I walked through his wine cellar on Sunday. And Shane was taking inventory of what Jack owned since Jack seemed to have lost track.
“When did Shane give this to you?” I asked.
“Couple of weeks ago, maybe a month. Why?”
“Just curious. Thanks so much, Mac.”
“You all right, sugar? I heard about you finding that young woman yesterday.” He put an arm around my shoulder. “What’s this world coming to where you kill a person and dump them like a sack of trash? Who would do something like that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m sure the sheriff will find whoever did it.”
“Used to be so safe around here,” he said. “Now we’ve got all these people coming in from away. Including you bringing ’em in—you’re hiring ’em. I say we ought to send those folks back home where they belong. I’ll bet you one of them did it.”
Fond as I was of Mac, I would never understand his ugly prejudices or his belief that white stood for purity and good. He thought America ought to be populated by Americans, not foreigners, but you could never tell him that the only real Americans had been here for centuries, long before the Susan Constant, the Godspeed, and the Discovery arrived in Jamestown in 1607. When all was said and done, he and all the rest of us were the foreigners.
“If those men didn’t pick my grapes,” I said, “who would? They work hard, Mac. They send money home so their families can have a better life. A lot of them have more than one job.”
“You wait and see,” he said. “When it all shakes out one of those people will be responsible for that woman’s death.”
He said “those people” like he was talking about bird droppings.
“I’m not sure about that,” I said.
He bussed me on the cheek and left his empty cup on the bar. The pumpkins, I noticed, were no longer there.
After he left, Frankie came over to me with her hands on her hips. “I moved the pumpkins out to the terrace because I knew they upset you,” she said, “but I swear, I was that close to throwing one of them at him.” She held up her thumb and forefinger. No daylight between them.
“I wouldn’t have stopped you,” I said. “He’s always been like that. Usually he keeps it to himself.”
“I would have called him on it.”
I shook my head. “Today I just couldn’t.”
“I could tell. Especially when I saw the look on your face when he handed you that wine. And what’s with the pumpkins?”
“Nicole carved them when she was with Quinn the other night,” I said.
Frankie’s hand went to her mouth. “I had no idea. I never should have taken them. What do you think I should do now?”
“Put them back in the barrel room and let Quinn decide.”
“All right.” She eyed the Latour. “Fabulous donation.”
“It is, isn’t it? I’d better get back to the house. My grandfather’s waiting for me.”
“You two going to do something nice together?”
“I think I’m going to drive over to Sunny Greenfield’s place and drop off the artwork for the cover of the auction catalog.”
She looked surprised. “Really? Well, if it will take your mind off everything that’s been going on, then good. The auction has kind of fallen by the wayside ever since Jack asked you to return his wine. We still have a lot to do to get ready, you know.”
I drove back to the house and wondered about the Washington bottle. Had Nicole gone over to the Greenfields’ on Sunday and tried to buy it? Jack would have still been recovering from his concussion the night before. Thelma had heard Nicole on the phone, making plans to see someone she presumed was another woman. Had Nicole met with Sunny and not Amanda as I’d thought?
Then there was Shane, who I now suspected was pilfering wine from his partner’s wine cellar. He was also Nicole’s ex-boyfriend and nowhere to be found after the burglary the other day. How did he fit into all this?
Pépé had finished his coffee when I got home.
“Change of plans,” I said. “We’re not going to Amanda’s. We’re going by Sunny Greenfield’s to drop off something for the auction.”
“Is she expecting us?” he asked.
“No,” I said, “but that’s okay. I’ll be right back. The papers are upstairs in my study.”
He was waiting in the library with his coat on when I returned.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Fine. I just wanted my cigarettes.” He patted his breast pocket. “The reason we’re going to Sunny’s is not so you can leave some papers with her, is it?”
“No,” I said, “it’s not.”
“I didn’t think so,” he said.
Chapter 26
On the way over to the Greenfields, I told Pépé about the bottle of wine Mac had donated for the auction.
“When Eli and Sunny asked me to look around on Sunday to see what had been stolen, I thought it was odd there weren’t any bottles pulled partially out of their places,” I said. “At the time, I wondered if it might be because the thief or thieves knew Jack’s cellar—and I figured Nicole was probably involved.”
“Now you believe she was not?” Pépé asked.
“Now I think I understand what happened. Nicole and Shane were partners—he knows that wine cellar inside out. Mac said Shane gave him the bottle of Latour a month or so ago. Maybe Shane was stealing wine from Jack’s cellar as he took inventory. Since he’s setting up the database, he can make sure it matches what’s on hand. Besides, Jack has thirty thousand bottles. That’s a lot of wine.”
“So why the robbery, if he has been stealing wine quietly and not getting caught? Or at least, until now when you made the connection with the Latour,” Pépé said.
“Maybe Nicole pushed Shane to do it,” I said. “Though I don’t think she was there during the robbery. She had dinner with Mick until nine and afterward went over to Quinn’s for the rest of the night. Quinn said she arrived around ten or ten-thirty.”
“And between nine and ten?”
“Sunny didn’t know what time the break-in occurred. All she knew was that when she went looking for Jack it was after midnight. That’s when she found him unconscious in the wine cellar—alone. The earliest he could have gone there was after eleven because she went to bed and left him watching the news.”
“Perhaps Nicole showed up just to make sure all was in order,” Pépé said. “Then she drove over to be with Quinn.”
I frowned. “Could she have done that in an hour? Drive from Mick’s to Jack’s to Quinn’s place?”
“She could have met Shane elsewhere. Or called him.”
“You know, their affair was over. I think Nicole’s the one who ended it. The timing seems odd.”
Pépé smiled. “Perhaps it does to you, but I suspect they did not let their feelings get in the way of committing a crime together.”
“Or they did get in the way and after the robbery Shane killed Nicole.”
“Lucie,” he said, “we really ought to go to the sheriff with all this.”
“We will, once I check out whether there’s a missing jeroboam of Latour in Jack’s cellar.”
“How do you plan to do that? I knew you were not planning to drop off any so-called papers with Sunny.”
“Of course I am. That’s the reason we’re going over there. And they’re not ‘so-called papers,’” I said. “It’s the artwork for the cover of the auction catalog. We’re using one of Mom’s paintings of the vineyard. Sunny’s taking care of getting the catalog printed, so she needs this.”
Pépé’s face grew soft. “May I see which painting you chose?”
I reached into the backseat and got the folder. The photograph of the oil painting, one of my favorites, was of the vineyard in autumn. It was one of her last works during a period when she’d been experimenting with bold, brilliant colors and a more impressionistic style.
He stared at it for a moment and closed the folder. “You haven’t answered my question. How do you plan to look around the wine cellar? You can’t tell Sunny what you want to do.”