A Sunny McCoskey Napa Valley Mystery 3: Murder Alfresco Read online

  “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.

  17

  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.

  “Really. I didn’t know.”

  “Ové never forgets a face,” said Daniela.

  Ové continued to stare at her. She looked away uncomfortably. When she looked back, he gave her another wink, smiling placidly, while the conversation turned to the day’s events at the racetrack. She smiled back stiffly, wondering if it had been a second wink or only a twitch. A twitch seemed most likely. She turned to Bruce Knolls, who was telling the story of how he’d met the director of the Ferrari dealership and struck up a friendship. Bruce looked about fifty, with short brown hair and basic Northern European good looks. He carried himself with confidence, like a man who has achieved his life goals with time and energy to spare. Sunny took inventory while he talked. He was wearing a submariner Rolex and, judging by the cut and fabric, a Brioni jacket. Even on sale, a jacket like that could set a guy back a couple thousand dollars. The Rolex might be white gold or platinum, but she was ready to guess steel. Bruce Knolls had wealth, but not outrageous wealth, and discriminating taste without the need to flaunt his worldly advantages to excess. Definitely a steel Rolex man. It was equally clear that he was a second lifer, one of those men who migrate to the valley of dreams to try a second marriage and second career, only this time on his terms. There would be no children, no late nights at the office, and no worrying about making ends meet every month. This time around, his work and marriage would be about passion and personal fulfillment. This time, he would focus on what really mattered before it was too late to enjoy it.

  His second wife was nothing short of dazzling. Kimberly Knolls had attracted and held the room’s attention from the moment she entered it. The effect was partly due to her choice of attire. She was wearing a strapless gown, full-length, and made of shimmering white satin. It had a slit on the side that ran up to her hip, exposing a petite but shapely leg. Her golden skin contrasted beautifully wherever it met the white satin, as, for example, at the clean white line of the bodice. Around her neck was a diamond choker that lived up to its name, sitting high on her neck and fastened snugly. The leftover chain fell down her back to a teardrop emerald that rested between her shoulder blades. She wore her black hair pulled back tightly, drawing attention to delicate features and eyes heavily made up with black liner and frosted shadow. She looked to be of Asian or possibly Polynesian descent, and somewhere in her thirties or early forties. She might have looked younger if it weren’t for a certain fatigue discernable around the eyes and mouth. As beautiful as she was, up close she gave the impression of being very tired.

  The group moved toward a nearby table. The white-gloved server went through again, urging them to take their seats. Rivka picked a spot and Ové took the place next to her, with Daniela on his other side. Sunny chose a seat opposite them, next to Wade, who sat next to Kimberly Knolls. Bruce Knolls sat next to his wife. Wine was poured. Sunny asked Kimberly how she and Bruce had met. Kimberly laughed and told the story of how they’d fallen in love from a distance at a resort in Cancún, while each of them was there with someone else. Bruce tracked her down when he got back and the rest was history. Servers came around with wine, and the discussion turned to Bruce’s goals for the winery.

  Sunny glanced across the table and Ové met her eyes, his mouth expressionless, and winked at her again. She started. Obviously Ové Obermeier suffered an embarrassing nervous tic. Sunny made a mental note to politely show no reaction if it happened again, and turned toward Kimberly, leaning in so she could see past Wade.

  “Wasn’t that terrible about that poor girl who was killed?” she said. “When I read about it in the paper, I could hardly believe it could happen in St. Helena.”

  Kimberly stared. Bruce replied for her. “It is utterly tragic. We’ve started raising money for a scholarship in her name, but that won’t bring her back of course. I’m sure her family is devastated.”

  “You took it upon yourself to create a scholarship in her name?” said Sunny. “That’s incredibly generous.”

  “Do we have to talk about such a morbid topic at dinner?” said Kimberly. She put her hands on the table and straightened the silverware with fluttering fingers. “I’d like to forget about that business for just one night.”

  Bruce put a hand on his wife’s. “It’s been hard for us. The girl who died was left at our winery. Maybe you didn’t know. That’s where she was found.”

  Sunny made what she hoped was a shocked and mortified face. “How awful. I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I read the article but I didn’t even notice where she was found. You didn’t know her, did you?”

  “Of course not,” snapped Kimberly. “Don’t be ridiculous. Some maniac just decided to ruin our lives at random.”

  “Let’s change the subject,” said Daniela loudly from the other side of the table. “I personally would love to hear more about the race cars Tux and Rachael collect back in Texas.”

  “You won’t hear it from me,” said Rivka, playing the wife. “I stay out of that car business. I don’t think Tux even likes me to go inside the stable where he keeps them. He treats them like his newborn babies. We have to keep our hands in our pockets and lower our voices when we’re anywhere near them.”

  The table chuckled politely, grateful for the effort to lighten the mood,
while Bruce stroked Kimberly’s hand and whispered to her supportively. The first course arrived and Rivka made a face at Sunny when they saw the plump filets and mixed vegetables. While they ate, Wade entertained the table with descriptions of each of his race cars and the international adventures it took to acquire them.

  “I once flew all the way to Milan just to see a car. It was exactly the car I wanted, and there were only three of them in the world, as far as I could tell, and two of them weren’t for sale. I though I was the luckiest cowboy west of the Mississippi. The only problem was, turns out the guy selling it didn’t own it. I didn’t find that out until after I’d paid him. Took three weeks chasing him all over the countryside from Roma to Palermo to get my money back.”

  Sunny ate her dinner without tasting it and listened to the conversation without participating, keeping to herself so she could think. It was understandable that Kimberly would be upset, but it struck her as the wrong kind of upset. Instead of being saddened or shaken by what had happened, she seemed angry. It was the kind of anger that suggested resentment, or perhaps barely contained fear. Given the situation, it was reasonable for her to be frightened. Or was it? Was there really any direct threat to her? If it really was a random act, as she said it was, then she had little to fear. But if she suspected the girl had been left there for a reason—and Sunny had never believed the girl was left there at random, there being nothing random about the careful presentation she had encountered—it would be very unnerving indeed.

  The police knew nothing to link the Knolls to Heidi Romero, that much seemed certain. Sergeant Harvey would have said so, or at least hinted at as much. If Kimberly Knolls was frightened, and if the police knew nothing, then Kimberly Knolls had a secret. She looked like the kind of woman who had a lot of secrets. What if she knew exactly why Heidi Romero was left at her winery, but she didn’t dare tell the police. Then she would be alone, waiting for her fears to come get her. Did Bruce know? Whatever it was that connected them to Heidi Romero, were they trying to hide it together?