Crush - Alan Jacobson [116]
Robby eyed her. “For someone who’s missed out on a vacation of wine tasting, you seem to have the lingo down.”
“I squeezed in some tasting here and there with Roxxann. While we were out investigating, of course.”
Robby grinned. “Of course.”
Their server, accompanied by an assistant, slid their dinner plates in front of them. “Is there anything else we can get for you?”
“We’re fine,” Robby said. “Thanks.” After the servers turned and left, Robby cut into his côte de porc—pork chop with caramelized onion sauce. “So, this case. Seems to me you’re still missing some information. Maybe you need to dig a little more. Maybe one of the victims that doesn’t seem to be connected to the AVA board is, in fact, connected somehow. A silent partner, someone pulling the strings behind the scenes.” He dabbed at his mouth with the napkin. “Bottom line is, don’t press. You may not be as far from the answers as you think. When you find the missing information, things will quickly fall into place.”
Vail looked down at her wild mushroom pasta. “That’s always the case, though, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “This just feels different. I can’t put a finger on it.” Vail stuck her fork into the pasta and twirled it. “I’d better figure it out soon. Gifford’s sending me home tomorrow night.”
Robby sat back in mid-chew. “When were you going to tell me?”
“I—I guess I forgot. I’ve been kind of busy.”
“What are you going to do?”
Vail shrugged. “Haven’t thought that far. But just because he says I have to leave doesn’t mean I have to. We still have some vacation left.”
“Karen, be honest with yourself. If you’re still here, do you really think you can divorce yourself from this investigation and go driving around wine tasting and sightseeing with me?”
Vail chewed her food and swallowed before answering. In a low voice, she said, “No.”
Robby winked at her, then cut another slice of meat.
THE WAITRESS BROUGHT dessert menus and set them on the table. Robby caught her before she left. “I think we’re going to get something to go.”
“We are?” Vail said.
Robby nodded. “Yes, we are.” To the waitress, he said, “We’ll have the Montbriac. And the check.”
Vail looked at the menu for an explanation: Creamy bleu cheese from the Auvergne region, served with a sundried fruit compote.
Robby handed the waitress his credit card. “Okay?” he asked Vail as the waitress collected the menus.
“Yeah, sure.”
Robby leaned forward and took her hand. “Do you trust me?”
Vail’s body tingled at the warmth of his touch. “Always.”
FORTY-TWO
Robby stopped at the door to their room. Key in hand, he turned and said, “Wait here.”
“Wait? For what?”
“You said you trusted me.”
“I do.”
Robby tilted his head. “Then wait here.” He slid the key into the lock, slipped into the room, and shut the door.
Vail stood there, hands on hips. What the hell is he up to? She grabbed the knob, then withdrew her hand. In the next instant, the door pulled open. A dozen candles flickered around the room’s periphery. They shimmered at the swoosh of air as Robby swung the door closed.
“What’s this?” Vail asked.
“I think it’s our room. Or did I take the wrong key?”
She gave him a mock punch in the shoulder. “I mean—”
“I know what you mean.” He opened the bag containing the dessert and set it out on the table. “You’ve been working hard and haven’t really had any time to just relax, clear your mind.”
“The massage and mud bath—”
“Shhh,” he said, then placed his fingers over her mouth. He removed her jacket and tossed it on the floor. Then he removed her blouse and carried her over to the bed.
The low-level, flickering yellow light from the candles provided barely enough illumination for her to see. He joined her on the bed, took the plastic spoon, and dipped it into the creamy cheese. Slathered it on her stomach . . . followed by the fruit compote, which he drizzled on top.
She giggled.
“You don’t mind if I eat first, do you?”
She closed her eyes and relaxed . . . for the first time in days. “No, I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all.”
FORTY-THREE