Crush - Alan Jacobson [11]
“We have to go see Brix.”
“Karen, if you’re all dialed up about what happened last week, then you need to let go of this wine cave thing. Someone else will deal with it.”
“Not my style. It’s in my DNA, I can’t help it. It grabs hold of my brain and doesn’t let go—I tossed and turned all night. Something’s up with him. I need to ask him some questions, get some answers. See if there’s any way we can help out.”
“Didn’t seem like he wanted our help.”
Vail pulled open the car door. “Then we have to show him why he should.”
SIX
While Vail drove, Robby dialed the Napa County Sheriff’s Office and asked for Lieutenant Brix. Though Vail wanted to drop in, Robby felt that they’d pissed on his turf once and didn’t want to come off as confrontational.
“The courtesy of a phone call would go a ways toward defusing any animosity he may have toward us,” Robby had said.
“Hey, we were there trying to help out as peace officers. We weren’t trying to ‘piss on his turf.’”
“He gets to his crime scene and finds a big-time FBI profiler hovering over a vic’s body in his jurisdiction. That’s not intimidating?”
“Well, that and I’m a woman. I’m sure that didn’t help.”
“I’m sure not.”
Vail pursed her lips. “Fine,” she said, “we’ll do it your way.”
So Robby called ahead. “Got it,” he said into the phone, as he jotted something onto a scrap of paper. He hung up and said to Vail, “Brix isn’t at the station. He’s at a place called”—he consulted his notes—“Peju Province, a winery off 29.”
Vail pulled out her pocket GPS and began poking the address into its display. “Stella will tell us how to get there.”
“You named your GPS?”
“Better than saying ‘it,’” she said. She handed Stella to Robby and put the Murano in gear. “So how do you want to play this?”
“This is your show, Karen. I’m just along for the ride.”
THEY ARRIVED AT PEJU PROVINCE, drove down the tree-lined driveway, and pulled around the circle into the parking lot. They walked through the metal archway and entered the winery grounds, which were meticulously landscaped with a variety of shrubbery, lush grass, multicolored flowering plants, man-made reflecting pools, and mixed-media sculptures. They crunched along the curving, decomposed granite trail past a triangular white marble female figurine, then entered a paved path that led past a stucco and stone-faced two-story building with a pointed, weathered copper roof.
“Beautiful grounds,” Vail said.
“Cool sculptures.” Robby pulled on the wrought iron handle affixed to the oversize wood doors and they entered a gift shop area.
“Are you here for a tasting?” a smiling woman asked.
Vail held up her badge. “We’re here for some answers.”
The woman’s face drooped faster than a Vegas slot swallows a quarter.
“It’s okay,” Robby said, holding up a hand. “We’re looking for Lieutenant Brix.”
“He’s in the tasting room,” she said, still looking a bit rattled. “Follow me.”
Robby leaned down by Vail’s ear. “Jesus, Karen, cool your jets. You nearly gave that woman a heart attack.”
“I get this way when my internal alarms go off.”
“This isn’t our case, remember?”
The woman stopped in a large, high-ceilinged room containing a wall-sized dome-shaped stained glass window depicting the three Greek graces. Several Brazilian cherry cabinets and tasting bars lined the room. Sommeliers were pouring from red-topped wine bottles. And a man was yodeling.
“Is that guy yodeling?” Vail asked, nodding at a blonde-haired sommelier with a guitar strapped across his shoulder and scratching out a rhythm with a coin against a ribbed credit card.
“Not sure,” Robby said. He listened a moment, then said, “Actually, I think he’s rapping now.”
Just then, the tasters huddled around his counter began clapping. And Vail caught sight of Redmond Brix. And Brix caught sight of Vail.
He stopped clapping and pushed past the customers to meet Vail and Robby. Poking a thumb over his shoulder, Brix said, “Guy’s a trip, isn’t he?”
Robby glanced back at the happy guests, who had pulled out their credit cards to buy wine. “Customers seem to enjoy his show.”
“They