Silenced By Syrah (17 page)

“Nikki, maybe it
would
be a good time to take off, go to Spain, let the cops solve this thing.”

She nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”

Chapter 16

Andrés made sure she settled into her room at the hotel. All she had were the clothes on her back, and the “disguise” she’d worn in the city tucked away in a bag in her car. Almost as if he’d predicted that she’d need something—and he always seemed to know her needs—he’d packed a small bag for her with a couple of his T-shirts, a sweatshirt, and some sweats.

“They’re too large, I know. I wanted to go by Isabel’s and get you some of her clothes, but I also wanted to get here as soon as possible.”

“This is wonderful. No, I’m glad you came as soon as you could. You didn’t tell Isabel about this, did you?” Nikki asked.

Her dear friend Isabel, a fabulous chef, had left a few days earlier for New York to be honored by
Dining Magazine
as one of the best upcoming chefs. She’d invited both Andrés and Nikki to come with her; however, Nikki’s weekend was committed to the formal opening of the hotel and spa. Andrés was caught up in business of his own and couldn’t get away from his work, either. Besides, Isabel had started long-distance dating another chef who lived in Vegas, and the two of them had met in New York. Nikki hadn’t wanted to get in the way of that.

“No, with the time difference back east, and knowing my sister, she’s probably been asleep for hours. It’s almost ten here.”

Doubtful that Isabel was sleeping. After all, she was in New York City with a man she liked. They were more likely dancing the night away, but Nikki wasn’t about to say that to big brother. Instead she responded with, “Good. Please don’t tell her. She’ll worry and want to come back and this should be a special week for her. I want her to enjoy herself. I don’t want what’s happened here to interfere with that.”

He poured her a glass of water. The room was extraordinary. Granted, Nikki had gone through the new hotel rooms when they were being finished and had taken people around during the tours, but as she sat down in one of the oversized velvet plush chairs that faced a fireplace, she sighed, taking it all in. Under other circumstances the luxury and romance of the room would have lifted her spirits and drawn her away from any looming problems. But nothing was ordinary at the moment. Even the two dozen roses, standard in all the rooms, and the golden hues on the walls, the candles scented with gardenia, and the king-sized bed covered in a luxurious down comforter could not ease the aches and pains in her body and her heart. Escaping from her home as it burned and the mental image of it going up in flames had seared her soul. Everything that she’d owned, everything that made up who she was, had been destroyed as the fire consumed the cottage. She sighed and choked back the tears, knowing that if she started crying again, Andrés would insist on staying with her. And tonight she really needed to be alone.

He sat down in the chair across from her, facing the fireplace. “Do you want me to light the fire for you?”

“No. I think it’ll be some time before I want to take in fire as a beautiful thing.”

“I understand.” He took a sip from his water. “Nikki, I know you need time and I know that this is difficult, but I do want you to think about going to Spain with me. Things always happen for a reason, and as hard as it may be to come to terms with your situation, maybe this is a sign that you need to be away from here for now. I won’t pressure you anymore about it, and even if you want to come along only as a friend, I won’t press you to make more of a commitment than that. I want to do what’s right for you. I love you, Nikki. Your happiness is what I want.”

“Thank you. I will think about it when my head and my heart are clearer, and I’ll let you know as soon as I’m able to decide.”

He lifted a chenille throw from the end of the bed and covered her as she curled up into the oversized chair. He kissed her good night. “You call me when you’re ready.”

She nodded and thanked him for his concern, and as he closed the door behind him, she could no longer hold back the tears. Not only for the loss of her home, but also because she didn’t know what the right thing to do might be. With his last words, she knew that Andrés was basically telling her that it was time to shit or get off the pot. Sure, he’d said no pressure, but it laid over her like a dense fog, because she knew by letting him go to Spain without her she could lose him and whatever they might be able to build together, and he was a special and wonderful man. Then, Derek’s face flashed through her mind and caused her to grow angry with his words, telling her to go. But what was it about him that kept her there?

She tossed the blanket off and decided to crawl into bed. The scent of freshly laundered sheets floated into the air as she slid under the blankets.

But she couldn’t sleep, and there was no television in the room to help distract her. When designing the hotel, everyone had agreed that the rooms were far more romantic without televisions. Instead, there was a stereo in each room with a selection of CDs. She decided to put in Bebel Gilberto and her Portuguese bossa nova sounds. That rhythm, that sound, and Bebel’s voice could usually help loosen tensions.

The day came back to her in a whirl. What a day—from her travels into St. Helena and meeting first with Stacey Redwall, the preggers designer who was, at the least, nervous about their conversation, then Charlotte, who may have raised the point that Georges could have been more than just taking a bath when he died in the spa. Did he have a lover in there with him, or had Charlotte heard the killer?

Then there was the meeting with Henry Bloomenfeld and
his
meeting with Rick Moran. Those two were probably in cahoots. She’d been stupid enough to reveal to Henry where she worked, but that didn’t matter because Rick Moran knew who she was, and he’d tell Henry that she was no writer. Could the two have plotted to kill Georges and now felt threatened by her? Could either have come to the vineyard and watched, waiting for the moment to torch her place? Of course, she could no longer leave out Baron O’Grady. He hadn’t been overjoyed to see her at church and had been less than thrilled about answering her questions. Maybe he was the one who felt threatened by her and wanted her out of the picture.

Clearly, someone knew she was searching for answers, Detective Jonah Robinson included, and they didn’t want her to continue. She didn’t know who’d murdered Georges, but she was sure that when she found out why he was killed, she’d also find out who’d done it.

She closed her eyes and thought again about Andrés and his proposition. She believed in signs, always had. Should she just go and leave this whole mess behind? But she knew she couldn’t do that until justice was served, until Georges’ killer was caught. Until whoever burned down her home and tried to send her to her own grave was behind bars. Because now this thing was
personal
, and Nikki wanted revenge. She’d get to the bottom of this, and until then, her guy problems and what she should do with her life would be put on hold. She knew she had to right the wrongs that had been done to Georges, and now her. Satisfied with this fact, she finally fell asleep and slept peacefully through the night.

Only to be awakened by the ringing of her cell phone the next morning. She’d set it on the nightstand when she’d gone to bed. She answered it at half past nine. Wow, she’d been really tired. Nine-thirty for her was seriously sleeping in.

“Hello, Miss Sands, this is Lauren Trump. We met the other day at the restaurant. I am, or I was Georges’ publicist. I heard about your home. I am so sorry. How horrible for you. I hope I didn’t wake you, but can we meet? I have something to discuss with you.”

“Sure.” She made a late lunch appointment at Grapes and hung up the phone, curious about the request, but nonetheless anxious to talk to her. Nikki had planned to think up an excuse to call her anyway and question her about Georges, as well as about Rick Moran. Now, she wouldn’t have to. The woman had called her.

But wait a minute, was that too easy? What did Lauren Trump want with her? And how had she heard about her place burning down so soon? It had been less than twelve hours. What if
she
was the killer and had tried to take Nikki out the night before? What if Baron had somehow made it known that Nikki had asked him questions about her and she’d been the one to want to get rid of her? What if upon learning through the
grapevine
, which traveled fast in these parts, that Nikki was alive and kicking, she decided to take another shot at her? Thank God they’d chosen a public place to meet.

She got out of bed and put on a pair of Andrés’ sweats and a sweatshirt. One thing was for sure: shopping was in order before she met Lauren. But she really wasn’t up to it. Maybe after a cup of java and some breakfast she’d feel like herself again.

Marco was in the kitchen fixing huevos rancheros, pink grapefruit with caramelized brown sugar on top, and an avocado and mandarin orange salad. He’d become quite the chef since the concept of the spa had come to fruition. Breakfast was the only meal served at the hotel and spa. All of the other meals could be eaten at Georges’ or the many restaurants throughout the wine country. Nikki couldn’t help wondering if anyone would get the chance to eat at Georges’ at the Vineyard. Would it be considered tainted? Murder was a hard thing to get past. How could it not cross patrons’ minds as they sat eating a gourmet meal at the new restaurant?

Nikki sat down next to the fireplace inside the small eatery. She could see Marco back there swaying to Diana Krall’s voice. There were a few couples inside and others on the patio having breakfast. Simon ran around pouring coffee and bringing mimosas or champagne for those guests who desired to indulge.

“Hi, Goldilocks,” Simon said, coming over to her table, coffee carafe in hand. He set the carafe down on the white linen tablecloth. “You poor doll. How are you? Marco and I were out late last night. We just needed to get away and go see a movie, take our mind off the tragedy of Georges, and then we come home to see what’s happened to the cottage.” He placed a hand on his chest. “All I could think about was you, and if you were safe. We immediately went to my brother’s place and he told us that he’d gotten you into a room here. Thank God. How are you?” His eyes were sympathetic and even before her caffeine fix, she was actually happy to see him. He wasn’t like nails on a chalkboard this morning.

She started to reach for the carafe.

“Oh, jeesh, I am so sorry. Here, let me do that.” He took the carafe and poured her coffee. “Do you want something stronger? Champagne, mimosa, mixed drink, how about a shot?”

She smiled. “No. Coffee is fine. I’ve got a lot of things to take care of today. Thank you, though. Maybe tonight, if I feel like coming over to the happy hour.”

The breakfast area also served as the wine bar and happy hour hot spot from five to seven.

“Of course. Of course. Well, I’ve got to tell you that the guests are a bit edgy, as you can imagine. That mean cop called this morning.”

“Detective Robinson?”

Simon nodded. “What is his problem? He is so cute, but so nasty.”

“Tell me about it. I’m on his list.”

“You and everyone else. He gave me the okay to tell the guests who were checked in during the
murder
”—he lowered his voice when he said murder—“that they can all go home today. Supposedly, he’s cleared them of any wrongdoing. I don’t know. I think this is going to set us back. We are going to need some great marketing to get this thing going again, so it’s not tainted. We let everyone stay for free, and that’s seemed to help.”

Nikki took a sip from her coffee and set it down. “It’ll be okay. Teamwork, right? We’ll all do it together.” Maybe one of the reasons Robinson hadn’t linked Moran or Bloomenfeld to the murder was because he’d been busy looking into the hotel guests. She hadn’t focused on the guests, figuring most of them probably didn’t even know Georges. She understood though, why the police would have had to look into each separate guest, especially since they were all probably antsy to get home, as Simon suggested.

He took her hand. “Who do you think did this? Do you think the same person who killed Georges started the fire at the cottage?”

“I don’t know, but I have my suspicions.”

“You’re looking into this, aren’t you?”

She shrugged. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“You be careful.”

“Do you know anything about Lauren Trump?”

“The publicist? Georges’ publicist?”

“Yeah. Her.”

“Not a lot. She was supposed to come in for a treatment the day he was killed. We had her on the books, but she called like ten minutes before and said that she had to go back to her hotel room and finish up some business before opening night.”

“Did you believe her?”

Simon leaned in closer to Nikki. “Why? You don’t suspect her, do you? I know that Detective Robinson asked her some questions. That’s about all I know. Well . . .”

“Well, what? What else do you know?”

He waved a hand at her. “It’s gossip. That’s all, and you know I can’t stand gossip. The Guru Sansibaba says that idle talk of others’ affairs is simply a reflection of the anger, jealousy, and pure boredom coming from within. It’s the sign of an empty soul.”

“Simon.” Nikki raised an eyebrow. “This is not gossip. If you know something that could pertain to Georges’ murder, you need to tell me. What would the Guru say about keeping information? He’s not a priest.”

Simon sighed, leaned in even closer, and started dishing. Like hell he didn’t enjoy gossiping. “Okay, well the word from one of the housekeeping staff, and the only reason I know this is because Marco speaks Spanish, sort of, as they do, because he’s Italian and they all talk to him and then he talks to me.”

“Simon, get to the point.”

“Right. So, one of the housekeeping staff went to clean Georges’ room the morning before he was murdered, and well, it wasn’t like the privacy sign was up. Poor girl got an eyeful.”