Corked by Cabernet

Fifteen

STILL shaken after the dream board session by Kurt Kensington, Nikki had an hour and a half to get prepared for the winemaking event she was to host. Not a lot of time and still quite a bit to do. She needed to get ahold of Derek. What time was it in New York? Almost eight. He was probably at dinner. She also really needed to speak with Mizuki and see how the woman was faring. The lady knew more than she’d been able to tell Nikki. If only there was a way to really communicate with her.

She’d try. Sooner or later she’d get ahold of Derek. It wasn’t as if he could change things here anyway, and he’d worry needlessly. He needed to work out the business between him and old man Vicente and she didn’t want to distract him. Oh boy, though, if he caught whiff of what was going on around here without her being the one to tell him, she knew there’d be hell to pay.

What to do?

Her question was answered when she spotted Robinson coming down the stairs from the top room suites.

“Hey,” she called out.

Robinson turned to her as he slipped his aviator sunglasses over his bad boy green eyes, same color green as the ivy that grew up the side of the walls of the hotel. He nodded in her direction and smoothly moved down the stairs. “Hey, yourself.”

“How’s it going?” she asked.

“Not great. I’ve got about a hundred-plus tourists who were on that train last night in different cars and several of them have plans to leave today. I’ve got as many men as I can conducting interviews and working on this thing. I’ve got my boss breathing down my back and I was upstairs trying to get something out of that geisha of Yamimoto’s. I tell you my head is pounding.”

“Geisha? She’s not a geisha!”

“Isn’t that what they call them in Japan? I don’t think it’s ‘hooker.’” He looked at her over his shades.

She took a step back. “No. She’s not a hooker or a geisha.”

“What the hell is she then?”

“I don’t know.” God! Why did he fluster her? “Girlfriend?”

He laughed at that. “Yeah. No. Not a girlfriend, Sands. I’ll give you ‘sweetly paid mistress.’”

“Did you confirm then that he had a wife?”

“Yes, he does. But she’s loco in the cabeza, like kamikaze style.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She lives in some kind of mental institution there in Japan. From what I’ve been able to find out, the poor woman barely knows her name, much less who her husband is or was. She tried to slit her wrists a half dozen times before Yamimoto had her committed.”

“Huh.”

“Huh, what?” Robinson asked.

“I don’t know, just, huh. I got the impression that Mizuki really loved Iwao.”

Robinson crossed his arms and rocked back onto his cowboy boots. “Mizuki and Iwao? When did you get on a first-name basis with the vic and his, uh, mistress?”

“I did help coordinate this thing and so it’s kind of natural that I would call people by their first names, not like you, the cop. Everyone is a last name to you. Even me.”

“Even you? What am I supposed to call you?”

“My name might be good for starters. We are friends, sort of.”

He pushed the shades back up onto the bridge of his nose. “I suppose we are sort of friends. So, friend. My gut says you got some info for me because I’m not buying the deal about you being the coordinator and having to get to know everyone on a first-name basis. What can you tell me?”

She breathed a deep sigh. “I don’t know much from Iwao’s friend. She doesn’t speak any English.”

“I noticed. An interpreter was supposed to meet me here, but hasn’t shown. I’ll have that guy’s tail when I get ahold of him. She gave me nada. All I know is she ain’t the wife. You got more?”

“I know that Iwao Yamimoto’s nephew Jen Yamimoto dated Sierra Sansi and the breakup was ugly.”

“I think we better sit down and do some talking.”

She checked her watch. “I don’t have much time right now. I have to get ready for this winemaking event I’m supposed to do for this group.”

“Really, and how does winemaking enlighten?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Why don’t I help you set up and you give me your scoopage?”

“I could use the help and I suppose I have gathered some scoopage together.”

“Cool,” he replied. “After you, Sands.”

ROBINSON helped bring in boxes of wine for her while she set up the glasses inside the tasting room, which usually just smelled of cedar wood and wine but right now she could smell musk mixed in-it had to be Robinson. Simon and Marco would be bringing in the food shortly for her. They were doing appetizers for the evening to go with the various wines she’d chosen.

Nikki filled the detective in on all that she’d learned, or thought she’d learned, placing an emphasis on Kurt Kensington’s odd behavior.

“That doesn’t make sense, Sands. Here this guy is shoving this shit in your face with his dream board. That sounds kind of stupid. Killers are not typically stupid and in your face, unless they want to get caught. But a guy who does what he did with the poster thing is more like a wannabe. It’s like someone who sees a mad guy in the media and writes in an anonymous note or calls in and says that he’s the killer. It’s an attention getter, but not the real deal.” Robinson pulled a couple of bottles of Cabernet out, setting them on the counter in the tasting room.

The private tasting room was by far Nikki’s favorite room at the winery. Painted in a dusky color, it felt warm and cozy, especially with a fire stoked in the corner fireplace. The area by the fireplace was set up like a living room with leather seating and shelves of books in the built-ins. It wasn’t filled with books like the library, but it still contained some classics and also some newer fiction. The best part of the room was that the walls displayed the finest artwork Nikki had ever seen. There were acrylics, oils, and watercolors as well as some bronze sculpted pieces on tables throughout the room. When Derek’s family built the place decades before, no expense had been spared, and Derek maintained that tradition, currently purchasing many local artists’ pieces.

“Don’t you think that Kurt displayed some really bizarre behavior? Shouldn’t you check it out?”

“I plan to. But he’s showboating, Sands. He’s trying to get under people’s skins. Freak them out, because that’s what he is, a freak. I doubt he’s a killer.”

“I have to ask about the cork thing. Whoever is sick and demented enough to slice a man’s throat and then stick a cork in his mouth, could be sick and demented enough to boast about it, even in a roundabout way. Couldn’t that be what Kensington was doing?” Nikki saw some water spots on a few of the glasses and grabbed a towel to clean them off.

“We’re looking at that angle. We’re looking at all of it.”

“But what do you think about the cork itself? Could it be a symbol, like, you know, ‘Put a cork in it,’ or ‘Shut up’? Think about that. Maybe the killer murdered Iwao because he wanted to reveal a secret or he had something on the killer.”

Robinson crossed his arms and rocked back onto his heels. “I only asked you to keep your eyes and ears open, not to go theorizing on me. It’ll get you in trouble.”

“All I’m saying is Kurt Kensington is not all there, and someone who puts a cork in their victim’s mouth has a few screws loose.”

“Killers do.”

Nikki sighed. “I know that. It only seems to me like he’s a decent suspect here.”

“That’s why I’m the real detective here and you’re not. But you are doing a fine job. You keep it coming, friend. I gotta few more leads to check out, especially on that Pearlman cat.”

“Ruben?” She stacked the glasses neatly in a row.

“Another first-namer with you, huh?”

She frowned.

Robinson ran his hands through his hair. “Yes. Pearlman may not be all that he seems to be. I’ll let you know if I find out anything more than that. For now, take it at face value.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. Here I am, all eyes and ears and giving you good information out the ying yang, and you’re not going to tell me what you’ve got?”

He pulled his shades from his front shirt pocket. It was one of those tighter-fitting, almost western-type shirts that the hipper young guys wore nowadays. Robinson was no spring chicken, but he still looked decent in the latest fashion. “That’s the way it goes. I’ll be in touch.”

It would be a waste of her time to try and fight him on this, so she shook her head and went back to her business. She had only about ten minutes and neither Marco nor Simon was there yet with the food. Where were those two when she needed them? Probably a good thing they didn’t see her with Robinson. She hadn’t exactly filled the detective in on their part in the scheme of things. She doubted he would agree to her Three Muskateer-ing it, and knowing Simon, he would come into the room, see Robinson, and ramble on about his own ideas as to who, what, why, when, and how.

“Hey, Robinson?”

He turned around, reaching the door. “Yeah?”

“Tomorrow, um, I’m having some friends over for dinner and I thought maybe you might want to come.”

He looked at the ground and then turned back to the door, his back facing her. “What time?”

“Sixish.”

“Why not? I guess that’s what friends do.”

She laughed when he shut the door behind her. He was a strange duck, but a duck one couldn’t help liking. She wondered if her powers as Cupid would work. And she had a few more guests to invite. Nikki knew her dinner party would be far from dull. And who knew? There may even be a killer amongst them.