Aged for Mayhem, page 18
Looking encouraged, Jean-Pierre fetched the bottles.
Olivia wrote all of them down on the day’s sales list. She was going to buy every one! She could invite friends around to help finish them. Well, one friend. Danilo would be an enthusiastic companion in drinking these fine bottles.
She opened the two white wines first and poured them into glasses.
“You must close your eyes now,” she told Jean-Pierre. “I am going to swap these glasses around, so that you will have to assess which is the pure vermentino, and which the white blend. You need to remain alert to the characteristics of the wine you are drinking, and then compare it with the other. Here’s some water to clean your palate.”
To ensure Jean-Pierre remained honest, Olivia turned her back as she switched the glasses from hand to hand. Then she turned back to the young trainee.
“Here is your first wine,” she said.
“I don’t have to spit, do I?” Jean-Pierre asked anxiously. “Because watching that the other day made me nauseous.”
“We are only tasting a few, so you may drink the wine normally,” Olivia reassured him.
The image of the critic spitting the wine out loomed in her mind. She also felt queasy thinking about it. The tension of the moment, plus the spitting, hadn’t made for a comfortable stomach, that was for sure.
And as Olivia’s thoughts turned back toward the unlikeable deceased critic, she heard footsteps outside the winery. She almost dropped the tasting glasses as she saw who was walking in. It was Silvano, the editor.
Clearly, he had come to see her. As his gaze fell on her, it sharpened, and he headed purposefully toward her.
Olivia was starting to hyperventilate. Jean-Pierre sensed her tension and opened his eyes.
“Is everything okay?” he asked. “That was the vermentino, I think. Who is this person?”
“Olivia,” Silvano said. “May I speak with you in private?”
Olivia felt her blood pressure spike. What would happen in private? What was this murderous man planning now? What other sharp-pointed stationery items did he have secreted on his person?
An idea occurred to Olivia.
“Jean-Pierre, please wait outside the tasting room. If you hear any shouts or commotion, come back immediately.” Remembering her duties as a mentor she added, quickly, “And you are right. It was the vermentino.”
“I will remain alert,” Jean-Pierre said in a firm voice. He marched out, casting a distrustful glance at Silvano as he left.
She hoped that if Silvano had any dastardly plans, her assistant’s watchful presence outside the door would scupper them.
She poured two glasses of the white blend and took them to a table at the far side of the room.
Silvano sat opposite her. As she looked more closely, Olivia realized that the editor seemed rattled. He appeared deeply uneasy, in fact fearful, as if he had lost control of the situation.
That suited her fine. She didn’t have control of it either, but at least it meant they were on an equal footing. Plus, her temperamental French bodyguard was ready to burst in at a moment’s notice and come to her rescue.
Silvano sipped nervously at his wine.
“I know you took Raffaele’s notebook,” he said. “When I finished my phone call and saw you had gone, I realized that you must have seen it in my bag and assumed the worst. I should have hidden it,” he said in sorrowful tones. “Or, at least, I should have been brave enough to tell you I had taken it, when you mentioned the book.”
“You—you—” Olivia began. It felt difficult to get out that crucial word “killed.”
“I promise you I didn’t.” Silvano stared into her eyes, his gaze wide and anxious. “I will explain what happened. Please believe me. It is the truth, every word. I swear it. The only reason I did not tell you yesterday is that I feared you had already made up your mind that the killer and the thief were the same person.”
“All right,” Olivia said. She sipped her wine, trying to channel Detective Caputi. If she could get the same level of intimidation into her stare, she was sure that the editor wouldn’t dare to lie.
“Like I told you at my house, I was worried about what Raffaele was doing. The inaccuracy of his reviews which were based on his personal likes and dislikes and not about the wine at all, his arrogance, the certainty he had about his own power. So I decided this was my only chance to fix it. I went to the Gardens of Florence hotel in the afternoon after Raffaele was murdered, and sat in the bar until I was sure the police had left and there was nobody in sight. Then I sneaked into his room and took the book. I intended to change all the reviews immediately, but the police froze the website. As soon as they catch the killer and unfreeze it, I will correct them.”
Olivia sipped her wine again, buying herself some time as she frantically puzzled over what Silvano was telling her.
From one angle, it sounded true and plausible, and his actions made sense and were, in fact, heroic. From another angle, this could all be an elaborate, cleverly crafted lie.
“Who do you think did it?” she asked.
He shook his head, looking helpless. “If I knew, I would tell the police immediately. It could be any of the winemakers who suffered from the viciousness of Raffaele’s pen.” Silvano winced as he said the word “pen,” clearly remembering what its final use had been. “Please, return the book to me. I am desperate to make amends. If that book falls into the wrong hands, the damage can never be corrected. Many of the winemakers have become my personal friends. I know what they are going through!” he begged.
Olivia took yet another sip of wine as she agonized over the choice she had to make. She’d been so sure Silvano was guilty, but thinking it over, she wondered what she would have done in his shoes.
Would she also have stolen the book to try and save the wineries Raffaele had treated so badly?
Olivia shook her head. She had no idea—about Silvano’s guilt, or her own instincts! Now she had to make the right call, whatever it might be.
“All right,” she heard herself saying. “I’ll give it back to you if you promise to change the reviews as soon as possible.”
“Of course I will!” Silvano looked relieved.
Olivia’s mind was in turmoil. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she started regretting them. She didn’t know if she had made the right decision or a terrible mistake.
She got up and walked over to the tasting counter. She reached behind it, to the shelf where she kept her purse, and drew the book out.
Before she could change her mind, she strode back to the table and handed it to him.
“There you are,” she said.
“Thank you, thank you!” Silvano clutched the book, his voice filled with gratitude. “I promise you that at the soonest opportunity, I will—”
He never got a chance to finish what he was saying.
From outside, Olivia heard the tramp of approaching footsteps. Jean-Pierre shouted in warning. A moment later, the tasting room door burst open.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
“There he is! There is Maestro Raffaele’s killer.”
Olivia stared in shock as Brigitta led the way into the tasting room, pointing triumphantly to Silvano.
Detective Caputi, flanked by two uniformed officers, followed close behind.
“See? Look, the stolen notebook is in his very hands.” Brigitta gesticulated dramatically. “It is as I suspected, Detective. My investigation work was correct.”
“I didn’t—” Silvano tried in a trembling voice, but the words petered out and he stared down at the book with a defeated expression. He’d knocked his wineglass over as the police arrived, and it was lying on its side on the polished wooden table. Fortunately, it was already empty.
Olivia’s mind was spinning. Was he really guilty? Or was this strong circumstantial evidence simply pointing toward him?
At any rate, there was nothing she could do now. The two uniformed police officers were already flanking Silvano and helping him, none too gently, to his feet.
“Give that to me!” Detective Caputi tugged the leather-bound book from Silvano’s grasp and slipped it into an evidence bag. As she did so, Silvano groaned in despair.
Olivia barely managed to stop herself from groaning, too. The notebook was now in the hands of the police. It could stay locked in an evidence room for months. The chances of the winery’s salvation were looking increasingly remote. In fact, Olivia decided, they might be nonexistent.
“I have nothing to say,” Silvano murmured as the handcuffs clicked around his wrists. “I know how this must seem. I will cooperate with you fully.” He turned back to Olivia. “Please, I must implore you, can you ask my neighbor to take care of Garibaldi until I am back?”
“Of—of course,” Olivia said, and Silvano nodded in relief before bowing his head again.
Brigitta folded her arms, smiling in satisfaction as she watched Silvano stumble toward the door, with Detective Caputi following behind, barking instructions into her walkie-talkie.
Jean-Pierre moved aside to let them pass, frowning as if he was perplexed by the speedy turn events had taken.
“Was this a trap?” he asked, treading cautiously back into the tasting room. “A setup?”
Brigitta looked even more pleased with herself.
“I tailed him the whole way to your winery,” she said. “I had a feeling he was going to try and plant the book elsewhere. Luckily, the police arrived while it was still in his possession.”
That wasn’t what had happened at all! Olivia felt she should set the record straight, but didn’t know where to start. Explaining she’d stolen the book and then given it back would only complicate things.
“That was very clever of you,” Olivia praised Brigitta as the assistant turned and headed for the door, clearly not wanting to miss the moment when the man she’d hunted down was loaded into a police van.
Deep down, Olivia had to admit to that she felt slightly miffed by the speed and sheer style with which the assistant had acted. She had tailed the suspect, summoned the police to the scene, and implemented decisive action to get a result.
Olivia felt ashamed of her subtle questioning techniques, which had ended up being completely useless. Now, it looked as if the case was closed, and that meant Olivia had made the wrong decision in trusting Silvano.
She propped her elbows on the tasting room counter with a sigh, staring down at the polished wood while fretting over her own recent actions. She had felt torn as she’d sat opposite the editor. It had been almost fifty-fifty which call she had made, but in the end it had been fifty-one, forty-nine in favor of believing him. Now, Olivia was starting to doubt herself. Her investigative instincts had failed her.
Then Olivia drew in a sharp breath as a warm hand touched her back, its presence lifting her mood immediately.
“Olivia, I am shocked by what has just happened,” Marcello said, gently massaging her shoulders. “I saw the police leaving. Detective Caputi said that the website editor was arrested here, while in possession of important evidence.”
Olivia nodded. “It was the book Raffaele wrote his reviews in.”
Marcello’s eyes narrowed and his handsome face grew stern.
“I am sure there were truths in the book that never made it onto the website,” he said.
Olivia could only admire his perceptiveness.
“I had a glimpse of it,” she admitted. “Raffaele thought our wines were wonderful. Silvano said that fame had gone to his head, and that he was letting his own personal prejudices influence his reviews.”
Marcello nodded sadly. “And now, the book is in the hands of the police, the editor is in custody, and the website cannot be altered.”
He leaned forward and brushed a stray lock of hair away from Olivia’s face.
“I think you must take the day off, after the stress of this morning. We are not likely to get many visitors today. Rest while you have the chance,” he told her gently.
Olivia looked up at him gratefully.
With her sleepless night and frost-struck grapevines and Matt’s arrival at her place, she had more than enough to cope with even before Silvano had arrived. Worse still, Marcello’s kindness was making her emotional. If she didn’t go home immediately, she was liable to fling herself, sobbing, into his arms. Right now, that would be an unwise idea.
Tempting, but unwise.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s been very stressful and I’m going to take your advice. Tomorrow, I’ll be rested and ready to lead the charge as we regroup!”
She didn’t miss the flash of admiration in Marcello’s eyes as he heard her fighting talk. It made the grim day seem brighter.
“Hold the fort, Jean-Pierre,” she called, as she grabbed her purse from the shelf and marched out with her head high.
As she headed down the service road that led past the goat dairy, her shoulders slumped again and the bravado she’d summoned up evaporated.
“Erba, I don’t know what to do!” she confided to the goat as Erba spied her and gamboled toward her. She felt jealous of her goat. Her adopted animal had enjoyed a fantastic morning, filled with interesting visitors who’d fallen into flower beds when she’d butted them. Olivia thought that this day, one of her darkest, had been a highlight in the goat’s life. Perhaps that was a lesson, she pondered. It was all about perspective.
“Are you coming home with me, Erba?” Olivia asked. The goat was hesitating, clearly aware it was the wrong time of day, and she’d miss out on playtime with her friends.
Deciding to abandon Olivia, Erba scampered back toward the dairy, leaping clear over a medium-sized rock by the side of the road.
“You’re way too playful,” Olivia chastised her. She wondered briefly if the nutritious alfalfa might be giving Erba an excess of energy. Perhaps that explained her too-spirited behavior and the incidents of head butting. After all, her ancestors had lived on nothing but mountain herbs and probably the occasional washing line.
She decided to reduce the goat’s ration and see if she calmed down. She could always increase it again if Erba seemed tired.
Seeing Erba was on an alfalfa-induced energy high, it would be better for the goat to stay at the winery the full day. Olivia decided to collect her later. In the meantime, she hoped the walk home would give her some time to settle her thoughts.
As she strode out of the winery, goatless and alone, Olivia wondered whether she was seeing this case from the wrong perspective.
What if she’d gotten the entire situation as upside down as—as Xanthe had ended up after Erba’s impromptu game?
What if there was another way of looking at things?
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
As Olivia headed up the sand road to her farmhouse, she noticed yet another car parked in her driveway.
She hurried up to the gate, feeling nervous about who it might be.
As she drew closer, Olivia saw to her relief that the visitor was Danilo. Finally, somebody whose company she was happy to have.
He hurried to her, looking concerned.
“Is everything okay? I came to work in your barn, and hoped I could surprise you by finding an unbroken bottle by the time you got back! But I noticed you have been affected by the cold weather. I see your young vines are frost-damaged.”
Olivia felt touched. It was so kind of him. It wasn’t his farm, or his vines, and here he was, helping her.
“Do you think they will survive?” she asked anxiously.
“If the temperature did not drop too low, they may be all right. You should know in a day or two. In the meantime I have collected some of the straw from your barn and placed it among the rows. The loose straw will help to hold heat in during the night, and this will mean that they do not suffer any further damage, and have the best chance to recover.”
“Thank you,” Olivia said, feeling grateful. “That’s one less worry. But there are others, and important ones.”
“Are you worried about the murder?” Danilo asked. “This is why you have arrived back early and are looking upset?”
“Yes. There was a new development in the case today. Someone was arrested at the winery, after being caught with incriminating evidence.”
Danilo’s eyes widened. “Who? Not one of the Vescovis, surely?”
“No, no. The man who’s now in custody is the website’s editor, Silvano. He had the notebook on his person.”
Danilo’s eyebrows shot up. “The notebook with the reviews? Where the truth was written? So the police believe that the editor killed him and stole it?”
Olivia nodded.
“Brigitta, his assistant, is certain of it, and the police think so, too.”
“But you do not?”
Olivia decided she needed to tell him everything.
“Do you feel like going for a drive to the coast? I promised Silvano that I would ask his neighbor to look after his dog while he’s in jail. While we’re in the car, I can tell you everything, as it’s more complicated than it seems.”
“Great idea!” Danilo’s face brightened. “I was looking forward to a morning’s work in the barn, but when the other choice is to take a drive in your company—well, there is no choice! Shall we take my car?”
Olivia felt her heart give a skip of happiness at his words. Danilo enjoyed her company? How lovely of him to say so.
He was a kind person and a true friend, she thought, scrambling eagerly into the pickup’s passenger seat. Perhaps, during this drive, she could find out about his romantic situation. She’d have to wait for the right moment, as she didn’t want to ask a personal question like that at the wrong time. In fact, for some reason, Olivia found she was feeling more and more hesitant about asking at all.
*
