She breathed a deep sigh. “I don’t know much from Iwao’s friend. She doesn’t speak any English.”

“I noticed. An interpreter was supposed to meet me here, but hasn’t shown. I’ll have that guy’s tail when I get ahold of him. She gave me nada. All I know is she ain’t the wife. You got more?”

“I know that Iwao Yamimoto’s nephew Jen Yamimoto dated Sierra Sansi and the breakup was ugly.”

“I think we better sit down and do some talking.”

She checked her watch. “I don’t have much time right now. I have to get ready for this winemaking event I’m supposed to do for this group.”

“Really, and how does winemaking enlighten?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Why don’t I help you set up and you give me your scoopage?”

“I could use the help and I suppose I have gathered some scoopage together.”

“Cool,” he replied. “After you, Sands.”

ROBINSON helped bring in boxes of wine for her while she set up the glasses inside the tasting room, which usually just smelled of cedar wood and wine but right now she could smell musk mixed in-it had to be Robinson. Simon and Marco would be bringing in the food shortly for her. They were doing appetizers for the evening to go with the various wines she’d chosen.

Nikki filled the detective in on all that she’d learned, or thought she’d learned, placing an emphasis on Kurt Kensington’s odd behavior.

“That doesn’t make sense, Sands. Here this guy is shoving this shit in your face with his dream board. That sounds kind of stupid. Killers are not typically stupid and in your face, unless they want to get caught. But a guy who does what he did with the poster thing is more like a wannabe. It’s like someone who sees a mad guy in the media and writes in an anonymous note or calls in and says that he’s the killer. It’s an attention getter, but not the real deal.” Robinson pulled a couple of bottles of Cabernet out, setting them on the counter in the tasting room.

The private tasting room was by far Nikki’s favorite room at the winery. Painted in a dusky color, it felt warm and cozy, especially with a fire stoked in the corner fireplace. The area by the fireplace was set up like a living room with leather seating and shelves of books in the built-ins. It wasn’t filled with books like the library, but it still contained some classics and also some newer fiction. The best part of the room was that the walls displayed the finest artwork Nikki had ever seen. There were acrylics, oils, and watercolors as well as some bronze sculpted pieces on tables throughout the room. When Derek’s family built the place decades before, no expense had been spared, and Derek maintained that tradition, currently purchasing many local artists’ pieces.

“Don’t you think that Kurt displayed some really bizarre behavior? Shouldn’t you check it out?”

“I plan to. But he’s showboating, Sands. He’s trying to get under people’s skins. Freak them out, because that’s what he is, a freak. I doubt he’s a killer.”

“I have to ask about the cork thing. Whoever is sick and demented enough to slice a man’s throat and then stick a cork in his mouth, could be sick and demented enough to boast about it, even in a roundabout way. Couldn’t that be what Kensington was doing?” Nikki saw some water spots on a few of the glasses and grabbed a towel to clean them off.

“We’re looking at that angle. We’re looking at all of it.”

“But what do you think about the cork itself? Could it be a symbol, like, you know, ‘Put a cork in it,’ or ‘Shut up’? Think about that. Maybe the killer murdered Iwao because he wanted to reveal a secret or he had something on the killer.”

Robinson crossed his arms and rocked back onto his heels. “I only asked you to keep your eyes and ears open, not to go theorizing on me. It’ll get you in trouble.”

“All I’m saying is Kurt Kensington is not all there, and someone who puts a cork in their victim’s mouth has a few screws loose.”

“Killers do.”

Nikki sighed. “I know that. It only seems to me like he’s a decent suspect here.”

“That’s why I’m the real detective here and you’re not. But you are doing a fine job. You keep it coming, friend. I gotta few more leads to check out, especially on that Pearlman cat.”

“Ruben?” She stacked the glasses neatly in a row.

“Another first-namer with you, huh?”

She frowned.

Robinson ran his hands through his hair. “Yes. Pearlman may not be all that he seems to be. I’ll let you know if I find out anything more than that. For now, take it at face value.”

“That doesn’t seem fair. Here I am, all eyes and ears and giving you good information out the ying yang, and you’re not going to tell me what you’ve got?”

He pulled his shades from his front shirt pocket. It was one of those tighter-fitting, almost western-type shirts that the hipper young guys wore nowadays. Robinson was no spring chicken, but he still looked decent in the latest fashion. “That’s the way it goes. I’ll be in touch.”

It would be a waste of her time to try and fight him on this, so she shook her head and went back to her business. She had only about ten minutes and neither Marco nor Simon was there yet with the food. Where were those two when she needed them? Probably a good thing they didn’t see her with Robinson. She hadn’t exactly filled the detective in on their part in the scheme of things. She doubted he would agree to her Three Muskateer-ing it, and knowing Simon, he would come into the room, see Robinson, and ramble on about his own ideas as to who, what, why, when, and how.

“Hey, Robinson?”

He turned around, reaching the door. “Yeah?”

“Tomorrow, um, I’m having some friends over for dinner and I thought maybe you might want to come.”

He looked at the ground and then turned back to the door, his back facing her. “What time?”

“Sixish.”

“Why not? I guess that’s what friends do.”

She laughed when he shut the door behind her. He was a strange duck, but a duck one couldn’t help liking. She wondered if her powers as Cupid would work. And she had a few more guests to invite. Nikki knew her dinner party would be far from dull. And who knew? There may even be a killer amongst them.

SIMON and Marco set platters of stuffed mushrooms, shrimp scampi skewers, beef Wellingtons, and various cheeses, fruits, and veggies out for the members.

“I didn’t expect all of this,” Nikki said. “Did you get it from the restaurant?”

“What? No. Marco did all of this himself. He slaved away over the last few days, prepping and then freezing the Wellingtons.”

Marco blushed.

“You did all this?” Nikki asked.

He nodded. “I wanted everything to be perfecto, and I know how hard you have worked to help us and the S.E.E. group. We are grateful.”

She knew that Marco was a fantastic cook. He ran the café and he and Simon did the breakfasts together in the morning, but Nikki had an inkling that Marco would have liked to take over the chef position at the gourmet restaurant on the property, Georges at the Vineyard. Since Georges’s death, they’d gone through a few chefs and none of them had worked out spectacularly yet.

“I should really talk to Derek about you being the head chef at Georges.”

“You would do that, Bellissima?” He batted his long eyelashes.

“I told you to put the idea out there and our little Goldilocks, Snow White of a girl would come through.” Simon wrapped an arm around Marco’s shoulder.

“Hold on, you two. I said that I would talk to him, but try not to put the pressure on. Be realistic, okay? Derek may say that Marco already has enough to shoulder here, which is true.”

“I can take over his duties.”

They both looked at Simon and, without saying a word, started setting food out for the members, who would be arriving shortly. He opted not to fight their silence, probably knowing that the underlying meaning beneath it was accurate-everyone knew, including Simon, that he’d much rather be getting a facial or massage, or working on enlightening himself, than tackling any real work.