Crush - Alan Jacobson [102]
“Looks like the mountain has a giant window built into it,” Vail said.
They found a parking spot and headed down the crushed bottle-and-grout walkway that led to the entrance.
“I’ve gotta take Robby here before we head out of town.”
“You’re gonna bring your boyfriend to ‘Wedded Bliss’? He may get the wrong idea.”
Vail chuckled. “You ever been here?”
“I’ve seen pictures and read about it, but this is outside my jurisdiction and tucked away from the main drag. All I know is the building’s won all sorts of architectural awards and the wine consistently scores over ninety points from Wine Spectator and a number of known wine critics.”
They walked through the double wide three-quarter-inch glass doors, which slid apart as they approached. After moving inside, they both stopped—the view was breathtaking. The entire interior was made of glass—or its polymer equivalent. The staircase that spiraled up to each of the four stories, the elevator, the tasting stations . . . all pristine and clear.
“Must be a bitch to clean,” Dixon said.
“Gives new meaning to the saying, ‘I don’t do windows.’”
Dixon pointed at the wall nearest them. “You can see the mountainside, through the glass walls. Like one of those cutaways, a slice right through the side of the mountain.”
Indeed, the mountain was hollowed out to accommodate the large building, and the inner heart of the granite and dirt was visible. This place truly was an architectural marvel.
Vail pointed at something above their heads. “Look at those tree roots.”
“Welcome to Wedded Bliss. May I help you?”
They turned to find a man dressed in a black suit, silver tie, and white shirt.
“Yes,” Vail said. She splayed open her credentials case. “We have an appointment with Crystal Dahlia.” Having said it aloud for the first time, Vail now wondered if that was the woman’s real name. Given the appearance of the winery, she was beginning to doubt it.
They were led up the staircase to the second level, then down a hallway. The floor was made of sand-blasted glass blocks, preserving the building’s look but retaining function. Walking on regular glass would be dangerously slick and the traffic of hard leather and dirt would eventually scratch the surface to hell.
The suited gentleman led them to a room and told them to wait inside, that Ms. Dahlia was finishing up a phone call. He stepped up to a wet bar, removed two glasses, and poured them wine.
“Oh,” Dixon said. “I don’t think we should. We’re on duty—”
“Nonsense,” Vail said. “I came to Napa to go wine tasting. We’ve had a few interruptions . . .” . . . a few murders . . . “but I think we’ve earned this.” She reached forward and took the glass.
Dixon waved him off.
Before Dixon could object further, Vail put the glass to her lips and swallowed a mouthful.
“Haven’t I taught you anything? At least do it right.”
“Oh, yeah. Nose. Smell.” She lifted the glass to her face and sniffed. “Hmm.” Sniffed some more. “Raspberries. Berries. I’m getting berries. That’s it.” She took another drink.
“Small sips,” Dixon said with the tone of a scolding teacher. “Let it float over your tongue. Taste it, swish it a bit.”
“No matter how I do it, this is good.” She took another drink, smaller this time, and let it float, then swallowed. “Yeah, that was a little better. But I’m still only getting berries.”
“Actually, berries is correct. Fruit forward.”
The voice came from behind them. They turned to see an attractive, slender woman in a white dress, a couple of years on the right side of forty.
“A hint of cinnamon,” the woman said. “And a little cherry.”
Vail rose and turned. A little too quickly, as the wine was already giving her a slight buzz.
“You must be Crystal,” Vail said, struggling to keep a straight face.
“Are you Karen or Roxxann?”
“I’m Agent Vail. This is Investigator Dixon.”
Crystal pursed her lips. “I see.” She took their hands with a firm shake, then motioned them to follow her. They walked down the hall to a glass-enclosed