Free Murder Uncorked by Michele Scott

Awe-inspiring and breathtaking in its glory, so much so that Nikki almost forgot where she was headed and why, until she spotted the sign in front of the Spaniards’ Crest Estate.

    Spaniards’ Crest was far less assuming than the mega-glamour of Malveaux Estate. Oaks and evergreens bordered the extended drive leading up to the Mission-style winery and estate home. Arches with fuchsia-colored bougainvillea growing tall and spreading across the adobe-tiled rooftops opened out into what looked to be a patio area. The baritone voices of the Gypsy Kings singing one of their Spanish melodies echoed through the covered arched hallway.

    Nikki scanned the vineyard, seeing a handful of workers spread throughout the vines. Someone cranked up a tractor in the distance. She thought her best bet was to walk toward the patio where the music was coming from.

    Oliver followed at her heels up a set of brick steps and onto the patio. A dark-haired man in a plaid shirt and jeans was seated at a picnic table with his back turned toward Nikki. He was speaking into a cell phone, and the way his free arm was waving wildly, she bet that he wasn’t having a pleasant conversation. “I know,” he replied in a Spanish accent. “I was in Spain. I was unable to get the contracts dealt with. I have a problem here. I need to have these grapes harvested. Fine. Call me back.” He shut the phone and mumbled something in his native tongue that she was sure wasn’t a nicety.

    “Excuse me,” Nikki said.

    His head snapped up, and he turned around to face her. His plaid shirt was open and exposed a sleeveless undershirt that didn’t hide the fact that the man was built.

    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She stretched out her hand. “Hi. I’m Nikki Sands. I’m looking for Andrés Fernandez.”

    He sat up straight. Nikki couldn’t help but notice his remarkable looks. Hazel eyes framed by a thick fringe of eyelashes, an angular face, his high cheekbones reddened by the sun, and a small beauty mark high on his right cheekbone. One thing Napa Valley wasn’t lacking, besides a plethora of grapes and fancy estates, was handsome men.

    “That would be me. What can I do for you?” He faced back around at a bizarre glass instrument on top of the picnic table, sounding as if he had no interest in her.

    Nikki knew she was going to have to try and give one heck of a performance, because she sensed that Andrés wasn’t the trusting type from the get-go. “I’m here with a new wine magazine coming out called,” she paused and cleared her throat, “excuse me, something caught in my throat, anyway the magazine is called the Vine Times , and I’m writing a story about the winemakers here in Napa Valley.”

    He frowned. “In jogging shorts and with a dog? Don’t you people usually call when doing a story?”

    “Yes, we do. But you see, I was out on a jog, and I passed by your winery here, and thought since you were on my list to talk to, I’d see if I could at least stop in and say hi, maybe set up an appointment.” She studied him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

    “Hi,” he replied sarcastically. He crossed his arms in front of him. “Nice Ridgeback.” He motioned to Oliver.

    “Yes, he is a really good dog.”

    “Your dog?”

    Nikki nodded. “Sort of, kind of. Yeah. A friend gave him to me.”

    “A friend? Nice friend. Expensive dog.” He smiled. “Not too many Ridgebacks around. There are a few Mastiffs, a couple of Dobies up the way, but I only know one Ridgeback here in Napa Valley.” Andrés pulled a pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket and put them on. “Why don’t you tell me the truth, Miss Sands?”

    “What do you mean?”

    Andrés pointed to Oliver. “I only live a mile away from Malveaux. I’ve even returned that dog back to their place a time or two. You’re not a reporter. This is a small valley.”

    “Can I have a seat?” She motioned to the picnic table.

    He