Valerie, she also learned about the fake robbery from Shane. She didn’t have much of a conscience but she did want the Washington wine—and now she had plenty of leverage to make you give it to her, didn’t she? So you killed her, too.”
“Shut up,” Shane said. He looked at Jack. “I’ll handle this.”
“I’m sorry, Lucie.” Jack sounded like he meant the apology. “You understand we have no choice. My hands are tied.”
I stared at him with contempt. “I bet that’s just what your father said to that family before he sent them to the concentration camps.”
He walked over and slapped me hard across the face. “I was wrong. You deserve what you’re getting,” he said. To Shane he added, “Take her somewhere else. Don’t do it here.”
“Why do you still trust him? He kept the Dorgon and he’s stealing from you,” I said. “I’m not just talking about the robbery, either.”
“Shut up,” Shane said, but I had Jack’s attention again.
“Mac Macdonald donated a jeroboam of Château Latour à Pomerol for the auction,” I said. “He said it was a thank-you gift from Shane, in return for investing a lot of money in wine futures and the Internet auctions. There’s an empty space next to the other Latour jeroboam on your wine rack.”
Jack stared at Shane. “One bottle,” Shane said. “Big deal. We’re making a bundle. Sometimes you need to spend money to make money.”
“We’ll talk about that later.” Jack sounded grim. He gestured to me. “Take care of this. I’ll see you at the store when you’re done.” He left without looking at me and a moment later I heard his engine start.
“Let’s go,” Shane said. “I haven’t got all day.”
“Go where?”
“Outside.”
The sound of glass on glass like bottles clanking against each other stopped him.
“What was that? Who else is here?” He pointed the gun at me. “Whoever you are back there, you’d better come out. Unless you show yourself she’s a dead woman.”
“He’s got a gun,” I said. “Stay where you are, Pépé.”
For a moment Shane looked puzzled. Then he burst out laughing and lowered the rifle. “Your grandfather? That old man is here? You think he’s going to save you?” He crossed the room and grabbed my arm, twisting it behind my back. “First we’re getting rid of that damn cane. I don’t trust you with it.” He kicked it from my hand and it skidded across the room, disappearing under one of the shelves.
“Okay, Pépé,” he said. “Get out here now before I kill your granddaughter. I can even count in French so you understand.
I heard a soft thwack and Shane slumped against me.
“Run, Lucie,” Pépé held a wine bottle in his hand. “I don’t know how long he’ll be out.”
“My cane.”
“No time.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me with him but my leg buckled and I fell.
He helped me up. “
“Don’t move. Either of you.” Shane’s voice was thick behind us.
Pépé hurled the wine bottle across the room like he was throwing a fastball. Shane turned away as it came toward him, shielding his face.
My grandfather shoved me down one row and dove down another as Shane groaned and I heard the sound of breaking glass. “Go!”
The aisles of Jack’s wine cellar were open-ended—we wouldn’t be able to hide for long. I saw Pépé’s shadow at the end of his aisle. He leaned out and signaled to me. He would draw Shane so I could get to the door. My phone was in the car, but that was a few hundred feet away. I pointed to my leg and shook my head. Then I pointed at him. He could run. I could not.
“I’ll kill you both.” Shane’s voice echoed in the room. “No one’s leaving.”
Pépé disappeared, silent as a ghost. I heard the sound of more glass on glass and Shane moving toward the noise. Pépé still meant for me to go for help and he was trying to draw Shane away from where I was. But I’d have to go the long way around the perimeter of the wine cellar before I could get back to the tasting area and the door without Shane seeing me. And I didn’t have my cane.
“Hey, Lucie,” Shane said. “Guess who I’ve got?”
I heard my grandfather’s “ouf” and the sound of something hard connecting with flesh. Then more breaking glass. Pépé must have fallen into one of the wine racks. Had Shane struck him with his rifle butt, or another wine bottle? He could have killed him if it had been a blow to the head.
“What did you do to him?” I shouted. “Leave him alone!”
“Then get over here,” he said. “Or I’ll really hurt him. You know what damage a broken bottle can do to a soft old skull?”
“Oh my God,” I said. “Don’t. Please, don’t.”
I walked around the corner. Pépé lay crumpled on the floor, his silver hair streaked with red. He wasn’t moving.
“Let me take care of him,” I said. “Please.”
“Don’t be stupid. Now I’ve got two of you to deal with. You first. Let’s go.” Shane jabbed the rifle barrel in the small of my back. “Step around that mess. There’s glass everywhere.”
He forced me back to the tasting area, his hands and jacket covered with wine and blood from where he’d been cut by broken glass. “Over to the sink,” he said. “Grab a towel and get it wet. I’ve got to clean up.”
I reached for the towel and caught a glimpse of my grandfather, bloody and wine-stained, as he peeked around the corner of one of the shelves. Shane, facing the sink, had set down the rifle and was wrapping the towel around his hand. He didn’t see Pépé. I looked down so my eyes wouldn’t give anything away.
“Don’t test my marksmanship.” My grandfather’s voice was surprisingly strong as he cocked the hammer of Leland’s Colt .45 semiautomatic pistol and aimed it at Shane. “Put the rifle down on the floor and move away from it.”
“No.” Shane reached for his gun as I grabbed the Washington wine.
“Do what he says or I’ll drop this,” I said.
He swung around. “No! Don’t do it!”
I brought the bottle down hard on his arm. He swore and fired the rifle, hitting a bottle of wine, which exploded off the shelf. I hit him again and this time he dropped the rifle. I held the Margaux in my hands, amazed that the bottle had not broken.
Pépé walked over to us, keeping the pistol pointed at Shane. He nudged the rifle out of the way with his foot.
“Put the bottle down and get the rifle, Lucie,” he said. “And take it with you when you call the sheriff.”
I obeyed and started for the door.
“Oh my God—no! Look what you’ve done!” Shane was staring at the bottle, now cracked with a spiderweb of tiny fissures. Slowly the wine seeped out like blood from a wound. “We have to save it! My God, do you know what this wine is worth?”
“Two lives too many,” I said.
“Let it go,” Pépé said. “The man it was destined for never drank it. Go along, Lucie.”
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I thought I’d teach our friend to count to ten in French while we’re waiting. He forgot six, you know. Besides, I am here with the spirits of two of your most famous presidents. I’ll be fine.”
Chapter 28
