What business did Shane have with Quinn? The only thing they had in common right now was Nicole. One had her. The other wanted her.
But it was Nicole who was with Quinn, not Shane. I wondered if he’d loaned her the Porsche or if she’d borrowed it without asking. Shane was like Eli when it came to cars. If they had their way, they’d shrink-wrap passengers so they couldn’t touch the leather seats or leave a stray fingerprint on any surface.
Quinn and Nicole were together at the far end of the room, engrossed in conversation. Neither looked up when I closed the door, though the thrumming noise of the fans, like the engine on a small plane, would have drowned out the sound. They stood directly under a spotlight near the winemaker’s table, facing each other. The white concentrated light made them seem like heavenly apparitions.
I watched as Quinn leaned against one of the arches at the entrance to the bays and folded his arms across his chest. Nicole sat down in a chair so she faced Quinn. Her face was tilted toward his and her hands clasped together. She gestured as though she were praying—or pleading. He nodded as she talked. Reconciliation, maybe? An olive branch?
Whatever she said, he seemed to accept it and held out his hand. It was too late for me to leave or move or pretend I hadn’t been doing anything but watching them. Quinn’s eyes grew dark as they walked toward me.
“What are you doing here, Lucie?” In French there is an expression,
I decided against the obvious answer, that I owned the place and could be anywhere I damn well pleased. Nicole Martin watched me, sly amusement in her long-lashed dark eyes. For the first time, I had a chance to study her, too. Exotic-looking with high cheekbones and a heart-shaped face. Only her mouth, which, in an unguarded moment, settled into a sneer, ruined her beauty.
“The Porsche was in the parking lot so I thought Shane was visiting. I came by to talk to him.” I looked at Nicole. “What brings you here?”
Quinn answered for her. “Nic wanted to see the Washington bottle before the auction. I’m taking her on a tour of the vineyard. We’ll be back in a while.”
I could tell by the way his eyes held hers that I’d been right and they’d made some kind of peace with each other. She smiled at him and his eyes grew soft.
“Enjoy yourselves,” I said. They were still holding hands.
“I’m sure we will.” Nicole turned the smile to me but her eyes said to keep out of her business with Quinn. “Ready?” she asked him.
He nodded and I wished I hadn’t decided to come by here after all. “One thing before you go,” I said.
Her delicate eyebrows arched. “What’s that?”
“I’m surprised Shane didn’t tell you Jack withdrew the Washington bottle yesterday. He wants it returned to his private collection.”
I caught the flash of surprise in her eyes. “Of course he told me. The bottle’s still here, so where else would I go to look at it?”
She’d come up with that retort fast enough, but she was lying. Either Shane knew about the wine and kept it from her, or Jack hadn’t told Shane. I wondered which it was. So, probably, did she.
Quinn looked at both of us. His eyes were hard and I watched Nicole belatedly realize her error. “So how come neither of you ladies bothered to tell me?”
“Because Nicole didn’t know and I only found out late yesterday.” Maybe it was churlish to expose her, but it had been a dumb lie. Now maybe Quinn would think twice about believing what she’d just told him in the back of the barrel room. I said, “And you and I didn’t get much chance to talk yesterday.”
The shouting match in my office seemed like it had been a week ago, rather than less than twenty-four hours.
“No,” he said, “we didn’t, did we?” He looked at Nicole and hooked a thumb at me. “She right?”
She nodded like a child caught lying to a parent, but sure of forgiveness. “When are you returning the bottle?” she asked me.
“We’re trying to get Jack to reconsider, so it’s up in the air.” I had no intention of helping her plan her strategy for going straight to him so she could buy it.
“He won’t reconsider. Get real.” Nicole didn’t bother to hide her scorn.
I wondered how I’d ever thought of her as fragile. Maybe that mistake was part of the reason she was so successful. People underestimated her and figured she was spun sugar instead of battery acid.
“The money was supposed to go to charity,” I said.
Her shrug said who cared. “Things happen. That bottle is priceless.”
“I heard you’ve got a client who told you not to leave here without it.”
She smiled, showing the sneer, and her eyes were challenging. “Did you, now?”
“So it does have a price,” I said.
“Which I’m prepared to pay.” She looked at Quinn. “I have a way of getting what I want.”
“I’ll bet you do,” I said.
“Maybe we ought to take that tour, Nic.” Quinn made a cut-it-off sign in my direction. “Let everybody cool off a bit. Come on. The Gator’s out by the barn. Let’s go.”
He tugged on her hand, pulling her toward the door. Before they left he turned around and stared hard at me. I shook my head and it seemed to seal things between us—Nicole and I had drawn battle lines and he didn’t like it.
After they left, I brought the Margaux out to the long table and, with a light touch, set it down and stared at it. Tonight it would be back in Jack Greenfield’s wine cellar—temporarily, that is, until Nicole Martin showered him with money and he parted with the bottle he’d said meant so much to him. I wondered if I’d ever hear how much Nicole paid and for whom she was buying it.
And what about the scene I’d witnessed between Quinn and Nicole? Had he fallen for her all over again? Surely he’d know what a mistake that would be—though who was I to give advice to the lovelorn, considering what I’d just done last night at Mick’s place? Even though we were both probably going to get our hearts broken, to turn back now would be like trying to pour raindrops back into a cloud.
Shane’s Porsche was still in the lot when I left to meet Kit at the Red Fox Inn just before noon. Where had Quinn taken Nicole on this tour? Charlottesville?
I walked by the Porsche on my way to the Mini, glancing through the windshield. A copy of Valerie Beauvais’s book lay on the passenger seat. A piece of paper, like a bookmark, stuck out of the top. Nicole hadn’t bothered to lock the car. Shane had installed a state-of-the-art alarm system and was so obsessed about that car I would have bet money he even locked it in his garage. If he found out Nicole left his precious baby unlocked and unalarmed, there’d be hell to pay.
I opened the door and picked up the book. The paper held her place at the beginning of the chapter on Bordeaux. I flipped to the title page. The dedication, surprisingly, was written in French.
Thanking Nicole for the fabulous time they’d spent together in France. When? During a tour of Jefferson’s vineyards? A summer holiday together on the Riviera?
Was it just a coincidence that Nicole showed up in Atoka with Shane a few days after Valerie’s death, now that I knew they were friends? I doubted it. Maybe Valerie had told Nicole what she knew about the Washington bottle. Although if she did, Nicole would never share it with me. Instead she’d probably use the knowledge as leverage to make sure Jack sold her the Bordeaux.
I put the book back where I’d found it and drove to Middleburg, parking around the corner from the Red Fox. As I crossed the street at the lone traffic light at the intersection of Washington and Madison, two men walked toward me. One wore a baseball cap with a logo on it. “The Hunt Is On.” The word
I decided to track down Nicole Martin after lunch.
