Free Blind Overlook (Book 3 of the Jay Leicester Mysteries Series) by JC Simmons

Leicester.
J.L. rarely opens the good stuff."
    "Well, I'm
flattered, and no more of this mister stuff, okay?"
    "Okay,” she
answered, nodding.
    The champagne
rated alongside the sherry. It had a deep straw gold color with tiny bubbles
racing to the top of the glass. A yeasty, toasty nose with damp straw odors
indicated great age. Dry and fruity on the palate, it was perfectly balanced
with a good finish.
    "Outstanding,”
I said, admiring the wine, holding the glass up to the light. "What is it,
and where can I get some?"
    Chamberlain sat
his glass on the table and picked up the dark bottle. "I honestly don't
know what house made this wine. It was never labeled. I do know two things
about it, though. It is from France, and the year 1911 is etched on the
bottle."
    "It's a
rare treat,” I said, raising my glass to him. "Thank you for sharing this.
You're not going to do this with the dinner wine, are you?"
    "No,” he
laughed, setting the bottle back on the table and picking up his champagne
flute. "I promise. The label's still on the one I've selected for dinner,
which we'd better decant now. We eat in thirty minutes, my dear,” he said to
Kathleen.
    We went back to
the cellar. Chamberlain set a dusty bottle on the wooden table before we went
upstairs to open the champagne. He lit a candle and gently picked up that same
bottle. "Here,” he said, holding it so I could see the label. "What
do you think this will be like?"
    The label was
covered with dust and mostly eaten away. But I could clearly make out, Chateau
Lafite, 1875. This was astounding. The wine was almost a hundred and thirty
years old. There was no ullage, and a perfect wax seal. Sitting my champagne
glass on the table, my attention was riveted on the Lafite.
    "You really
want to do this, J.L.?" I heard myself saying. "It's probably way
over the hill. It would surely bring a lot of money at auction."
    "Hog wash,”
Chamberlain said, carefully removing the wax seal. "Wine is to be drunk,
enjoyed. Not sold."
    "Still..."
    "There were
six bottles originally,” he said, ignoring my comment. "I've opened one
before. I think you'll be surprised."
    Holding the
decanter while Chamberlain poured the wine over the candle flame, I noticed
when he was finished that there was almost two inches of sediment remaining in
the bottle. The cork was in perfect shape. The wine in the decanter had a deep
garnet color.
    "We'd
better get the steaks cooking,” Chamberlain said, handing me the decanter.
"We don't want this to breathe too long. Take it up to Kathleen. I'll put
the meat on."
    Obeying like a
child, I sneaked a smell on the way. There was not a whiff of decay.
    Refilling my
champagne glass, I noticed Kathleen had not drunk any of hers. Carrying the
bottle out back to where Chamberlain was grilling the meat, I also noticed that
there were only two steaks on the grill.
    He saw me
looking. "Kathleen won't eat meat. It's the chemo, throws off her
taste."
    "Understood,”
I said, refilling his glass.
    The steaks were
perfect. And the wine! The bouquet, closed at first, developed quickly in the
glass. It had a delicate fruit, with a rich warm wholemeal-bisquit character,
which, to me, is the essence of the finest claret, as it blossoms in the glass.
It was slightly sweet, lightish, rich but soft, with a silky texture in the
mouth. There was a delicate acidity on the aftertaste. Again, I wanted to get
on my knees.
    "The meat
was too much for the wine,” Chamberlain said, holding his glass up to a candle.
"Should have tasted this with no food."
    He was right,
but I wasn't complaining. Kathleen, bless her heart, only sipped at hers.
    After dinner
Kathleen showed me the prints she had framed of Rockwell Kent. There were six
from a set issued with his book, GREENLAND JOURNAL. They were enclosed in black
wood with red matting. The one Chamberlain said was his favorite, PEACE ON
EARTH was nice. Another, showing an Eskimo boy carrying a huge bird across his
back, appealed to me. He