Free Murder Uncorked by Michele Scott Page A

shrugged. She sat down by him. “You didn’t buy any of that, huh?”

    “Not even if you didn’t have the dog, but he makes it obvious.”

    “And to think I’m an actress, or I used to be.”

    “Not a very good one.” He turned back to what looked to be a science experiment on top of the wooden table. It was a piece of blown glass with a bulbous bottom and narrow stem. Liquid flowed down to the bottom and pushed the scaled numbers on the narrow part of the tube upward. Nikki suddenly realized what it was—a hydrometer used to measure the amount of sugar in must or wine. The instrument allows the winemaker to predict and adjust his recipe depending on the readings taken. She remembered reading about hydrometers in one of her wine books at home, but she’d never seen one.

    “Ouch. Thanks. That’s why I said ‘used to be.’”

    “Alright, Charlize Theron. By the way, how do I even know that your real name is Nikki Sands?” He waved a hand at her. “It doesn’t matter. What do you want, and why are you making up stories to get at what you want?”

    She crossed her legs and held her head up high, flicking hair that had fallen from her ponytail out of her face. She looked pointedly at him, deciding total confidence would be the only possible way of getting to this man. “I’m considering taking a job with Malveaux.”

    “How nice for you.”

    “I’ll be honest with you. I’m the one who found Gabriel Asanti murdered.”

    “Great. Did Malveaux send you here as some private investigator? Because I already spoke with the police. I didn’t care for Gabriel, but I didn’t kill him.”

    “I’m not a P.I., but I am curious, and I thought I’d get an outsider’s perspective of Malveaux Estate and the folks there, plus Gabriel’s murder has me shaken up.”

    “So you come talk to me?”

    “Why not? I’ve heard all the rose-colored-glasses stuff from Derek Malveaux, now I want to hear if there’s any dirt. I don’t want to make a bad decision. I’m considering uprooting from L.A. and leaving family behind. This is a big deal for me. I wouldn’t have thought twice about taking the job before this murder, but now . . .” Half-truths were not half lies, but half-truths. From the look on his face, her acting had improved, because he stopped looking at her with darkened suspicion.

    “Working for Malveaux is fine, I suppose, if you view making wine as only a business deal.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “Maybe I shouldn’t be so harsh on Derek Malveaux, because I believe he’s tried through the years to maintain what his father started. I think Gabriel Asanti brainwashed him and the rest of the world into thinking his wines were a cut above the rest.”

    “Are you saying they’re not? The man has won tons of awards. I’ve tasted his wines. They’re delicious.”

    “The taste is good, I suppose. It’s the attitude that Gabriel had that angered me. Wine is not supposed to be about how much and how many. Dollars and cents, awards and kudos. That’s all Gabriel cared about. He didn’t appreciate the art form. He didn’t understand the beauty of the culture.”

    Andrés was proving to be not only a recluse, but maybe a bit eccentric, too. “I’m not totally sure I understand.”

    “How could you? Are you a farmer? Do you grow grapes? I would guess, no. You’re someone who sees dirt, soil, as messy, filthy.”

    “You don’t know what I think.” Wasn’t dirt dirty? Did someone know something Nikki didn’t, because she’d been called dirt as a kid, and it hadn’t been used in a nice way.

    “Making wine starts from the soil. It’s like a painting. The soil is the canvas. The roots of the grape vine are like a paintbrush. The grape grower, winemaker, all of us on the land here are the painters. Our product should be about divine taste and art and culture. The greatest miracle-maker of all turned water into wine. Need I say more? Someone like Gabriel comes along with his