Secrets of Bella Terra

  “What’s your name again?” Rafe asked.

  “You might know me as Cepheus.” Robert didn’t blink. “I hope you enjoy using the e-reader. I certainly enjoy mine. I especially like viewing mystery-feed video on it.”

  Robert was Cepheus? He didn’t even wear glasses, and he had a tan, so obviously he spent time outside in the sun.

  Wow. A hacker who didn’t live in his parents’ basement. Who knew?

  Noah rejoined Rafe and grimly said, “So many guests have checked out, it’s a good time to train a new concierge—especially with Victor sitting in jail.”

  Rafe led the way out of the lobby and down the hall toward Noah’s office. “Victor hasn’t confessed, has he?” Rafe asked.

  “No, he says he left the bar about fifteen minutes after he went in, but he has no alibi. Nobody believes he did it, though.”

  Remembering the distinguished South American, knowing the trust Brooke had put in him, Rafe didn’t believe it, either. “If he had, it would be damned stupid to be the one to report the damage.”

  “Right. But why not tell us where he was and what he was doing?”

  “I don’t know. It would save everyone a lot of trouble. But nothing about this case has been easy.” Rafe checked his old phone, then unzipped the e-reader case and checked the new one. C’mon, Team Kyrgyzstan.

  Noah smirked at Rafe. “So, bro, what are we doing?”

  “Remember when the three of us were kids and played hide-and-seek in the wine cellar?”

  “Yeah.” Noah sounded cautious.

  “Remember when you hid in the big old wine barrel and we couldn’t find you, so we turned off the lights and locked the door?”

  “Remember? How could I forget? You little assholes. I’m still scarred.”

  “You were always dumping us to go look up some little girl’s dress. We thought you had sneaked away again.”

  “Finding the light switch was the best moment of my life.”

  “The best moment? Even including getting laid the first time?”

  “Well . . . maybe not the best moment.” Noah opened the door to his office, then blocked the entrance. “Are you just tormenting me, or we headed anywhere with this?”

  “Tormenting you for sure. But get the keys and come with me. We’re going down.” Rafe pointed toward the floor.

  “The basement? Really?” Noah looked Rafe over, noting the dark sports coat and pressed blue shirt. “You’re kind of snazzy for a visit to the underworld.”

  “After last night, I’ve taken to carrying a gun all the time, and I like that holster hidden. Plus, this jacket is tailor-made for me, with a few extra pockets for the equipment I have stashed.”

  “You are looking a little lumpy.” Noah dug in his desk drawer and extricated a large, old-fashioned iron key. “But I thought you’d just eaten too many of Chef’s desserts.”

  “That, too.” The thought of finally gaining control of this situation made Rafe happy as he had never imagined. “It’s about to get very interesting around here.”

  The two brothers went into the closet that hid the door to the basement. They thrust the key into the massive old lock and worked for ten minutes before they got it to turn. Light spilled down the stairs only a little way as the two brothers descended gingerly into the cool cellar. Noah groped for the light switch.

  When he flipped it, dimly illuminating the hotel’s underbelly, Rafe whistled in amazement. “It hasn’t changed a bit.” The place smelled earthy, like a tomb, and on the ceiling a series of bare bulbs reached into the darkness in two directions along the echoing length of corridor lined with dusty wine racks and the occasional discarded piece of furniture.

  “You ought to clean this up,” Rafe said.

  “No way. If I told Ebrillwen what was down here, she’d have her maids scrubbing the concrete floors once a week.”

  “We’ll deal with the fallout shelter first,” Rafe decided and turned left.

  “Haven’t been in there for years.” Noah’s lip curled in disgust. “It’s like a moment of ugly panic frozen in time.”

  “Glad to hear I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

  They walked the hundred feet to an ironclad door, pushed it open and hit the light switch.

  The room looked exactly as it had in nineteen fifty-nine, with bunk beds, shelves filled with canned goods, a table covered with a red-checked tablecloth, and a television console wider and taller than the screen it housed.

  Noah indicated the three bright orange chairs grouped around the TV. “A lot of Naugas died to make that furniture.” When Rafe just stared at him, he said, “You know? Because they’re upholstered in Naugahyde?”

  “Bad joke.” Rafe looked around. “But my hacker was right. There are no cameras in here.”

  “I didn’t see the need,” Noah said.

  “Good man.” Going to the TV, Rafe unhooked the antenna cable, pulled the length of it toward the door, and when he knew for sure he had a clear line of sight to the other end of the corridor, he spliced a receiver onto that end.

  Noah watched with fascination. “Why are we down here?”

  “We’re setting a trap.” Rafe dusted his fingers, stowed his tools, checked the alignment on the receiver once more. Looking at his brother, he said, “We’re going to get the bastard.”

  “How?”

  “Watch and learn, little brother.”

  “God, you’re obnoxious,” Noah said with fraternal loathing.

  Rafe grinned—obnoxiously—and led the way out of the fallout shelter. When Noah turned off the light, Rafe glanced back to see if the receiver was visible to the casual eye.

  It was not.

  “If we set the bait correctly,” Rafe said, “our man will be so anxious to get his hands on his reward he won’t check to see what we did in there.”

  “What did we do in there?” Noah asked.

  “I worked my video magic. Listen, when we’re in the corridor, we’re being watched, so keep that in mind.” As they walked, Rafe noted the locations of the cameras, and noted that they smoothly followed them as they passed.

  Noah glanced at the cameras, too. “Do you know who’s watching us?”

  “Not yet. That’s what we’re here to find out. Be calm. Talk casually.” Rafe was glad to have Noah with him. His little brother had kept a cool head through this whole ordeal. “Do you keep wine down here anymore?”

  “Okay . . . the wine. For the most part, the bottles down here are so old they’re not viable. Or they’re empty. If Eli wants to experiment with a different grape or use the old barrels to create a different flavor, we’ll store them down here. We started that after one of the winery employees messed up and added a barrel of carignan to Eli’s zin bottling. God, what a mess that was! I haven’t seen Eli that mad since . . . Well, he was madder this morning.” Noah stopped and faced Rafe. “I’ve never seen him lose it like that.”

  “I’m honored to be the cause of Eli’s biggest shitfit.” In fact, Eli had always been such a good, steady guy, facing his own problems without complaint and helping Rafe and Noah through theirs, that every time Rafe thought of Eli’s frank assessment of his competence, he felt worse.

  “I don’t know. He’s always quiet, but ever since Nonna was attacked—well, actually, I noticed a little before that—he’s been positively withdrawn.”

  “Woman problems?”

  “Just because you’ve got woman problems, Rafe, doesn’t mean the rest of the world does.”

  Rafe started walking again.

  Noah caught up with him. “No, I don’t know what Eli’s problem is.”

  “Did you ask?”

  “Nonna did. Eli said he was fine and nothing was wrong.”

  “Right.”

  The two brothers walked companionably to the door leading to that last room in the depths.

  Noah put the key in the lock. “You found out what Nonna knows, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I did.” While Noah struggled to turn the key, Ra
fe told him the history of Massimo’s wine and Joseph Bianchin’s grudge—when Noah realized Bianchin had been behind the attack on Nonna, Noah broke his promise to be cool, but Rafe figured it was okay. All the MH could see was Noah doing what looked like a native dance across hot coals.

  When Noah finished his fit of temper, Rafe surreptitiously showed him the old, skunked bottle of wine he’d brought from Nonna’s cellar and hidden in the inside lower pocket of his jacket, as well as the miniature satellite network cameras he’d retrieved from his room. “I’m going to put the bottle in the barrel, without the MH seeing me; then you’re going to pull it out and show it to me as if you’d just retrieved it. We’re going to grin and celebrate. Then you’re going to make a fool of yourself. Pretend to drink it, almost drop it . . . I don’t care what you do, but keep those cameras and whoever is watching focused on you.”

  “I can make a fool of myself,” Noah assured him.

  “I know it.”

  Noah punched him on the arm.

  Rafe punched Noah back.

  “What are you going to do?” Noah asked.

  “I’m going to place my cameras around the room, and these cameras will record who comes to retrieve this very special bottle of wine. They’ll send the signal to the transmitter I’ll place at the back of the room. That’ll transmit to the receiver in the fallout shelter, which will send the signal up the antenna wire to the secure transmitter above. Since the entire system bypasses Bella Terra’s security system, the video will go to my nonhacked computer and we’ll catch our perp.”

  “And beat him up?” Noah asked hopefully.

  “Well. If he were to struggle when he was arrested, he might be accidentally injured.” Rafe and Noah exchanged retaliatory smiles. “The good thing about these cameras is that placement is simple and fast—pull off the protective strip and place the adhesive wherever I want. So . . . I’ll place a few, come over and argue with you, place a few, come back and put the bottle back in the barrel and give you a lock to put on it. . . .”

  “Got it.” Noah turned the handle and they were in.

  Rafe scrutinized the area. “There are more barrels than I remember.”

  “We haven’t changed it a bit.”

  “The lighting sucks.”

  “Well, pardon me.”

  “No, that’s good. He won’t see the cameras, but we’ll see him.”

  Noah headed toward the biggest barrel, six feet around, eight feet long, and resting sideways on a stand. “This is it.” A small trapdoor had been cut into the flat side facing the entrance.

  Rafe swung it open and the odor of old winepermeated wood wafted out. “Wow. After all these years.”

  “I smelled like that for days after I crawled in here.”

  “Really? I thought you smelled like flop sweat.”

  “Little assholes,” Noah muttered again.

  Rafe slipped the bottle into the barrel. “Okay, now pull it out like it’s been there all along.”

  Noah reached in and brought out the bottle.

  The two brothers looked at it in assumed awe.

  Noah’s awe actually consisted of, “You substituted that cheap skunky cabernet that bimbo girlfriend of Pop’s brought Nonna for Christmas? What was that girl’s name?”

  “Don’t you remember? Tab-ith-a.” Rafe pronounced it exactly as she had.

  “She thought the joke label was so funny.”

  “So the bottle’s finally good for something.” Rafe wandered toward one of the smaller barrels, stripped the protective strip off the first camera, stuck it slightly behind the iron hoop, and pointed it toward Noah.

  Noah held the bottle up to the light to read the label. “Château de Wretched. You think the perp’s not going to notice that?”

  “I doubt it. He’ll be excited about the prospect of making his fortune. He’ll look at the year—”

  Noah glanced at the bottle. “Which is, by the way, 11935.”

  “—think it’s some weird notation Massimo did, and make a run for it.” Rafe stuck a camera into one of the wine slots.

  Noah lifted the bottle and pretended to drink, then performed a pratfall so realistic Rafe leaped toward him to catch the wine. When Noah came up grinning, Rafe wanted to strangle him. “Damn it! You scared the hell out of me. If you’d dropped that bottle, this plan would be worthless.”

  Noah burst into laughter. “Remember when Chevy Chase came home with Dad and taught me to fall?”

  Rafe’s heart beat hard and fast. “Forget it. SNL doesn’t want you.”

  “I don’t know. If I can scare the hell out of you, I’m doing something right.” Noah pretended to drink again, then to spit it on the floor.

  Rafe palmed one of the tiny cameras and handed it to Noah. “When you put the bottle back, lean all the way in and stick this inside pointing right at the opening.”

  “Aren’t you afraid the perp’ll see it when he reaches for the bottle?”

  “I’m afraid this is a stupid plan and probably won’t put the guy in jail unless we can prove he hacked your security and murdered Luis Hernández, but at least we’ll know his identity.” Rafe watched Noah lean in and replace the bottle. “I’ve got more than broken wine bottles to worry about. That bastard hurt my grandmother . . . and he’s stalking Brooke. I’m going to take him out.”

  Chapter 42

  The car returned Nonna, Bao and Brooke to the hospital. Bao stood guard while the driver helped put Nonna in a wheelchair.

  “I’ll be about a half hour,” Brooke told him.

  “I won’t keep her any longer than necessary, young man,” Nonna told him.

  He smiled at her—who could resist her charm?—and touched his cap. “Take your time, Mrs. Di Luca. I’ve got instructions to drive you wherever you need to go. Miss Petersson, when you’re ready, give me a call and I’ll pick you up at the entrance.”

  The check-in took only a few minutes, and after looking at Nonna’s cheerful face, none of the nurses said a word of reproach. Brooke gave Nonna a good-bye kiss, nodded to Bao, and headed toward the hospital lobby. And her phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket and looked.

  Private caller. She answered.

  Gagnon’s warm, French-accented voice purred in her ear. “Chérie, it is I, Gagnon. I’ve done as you asked and you were absolutely right.”

  “I love to hear that I’m right . . . except in this instance.”

  “An anonymous buyer has placed a standing order for Massimo’s wines: He wants them by any means. The reward is substantial, and there’s buzz among the community that a bottle exists in your little town, one that could bring the discoverer untold wealth.”

  “Oh, no.” Would Nonna ever be able to live alone, in safety, again?

  “Word is that a person of power is handling the matter—”

  Brooke stopped by the elevators. “Joseph Bianchin.”

  “Do you know that? Because no one has any information on where the matter originates.”

  “I don’t know. But my suspicions are justified.” She started toward the lobby and out the door.

  “Interesting.” His voice lingered over the word.

  “What else?” The air was fresh, sunshine bright and warm.

  “A couple of men who tried to interrupt the acquisition process have been killed already.”

  “Luis Hernández.”

  “Yes.”

  “And Cruz Flores.”

  “Yes.”

  Brooke leaned against the rough stucco wall, warm from the sun, but the cold struck clear to her bones. She breathed deeply, trying to ease the constriction in her chest.

  Gagnon sounded concerned, almost as if he knew she felt faint. “If the current operators don’t get the job done soon, there’s going to be a rush on Bella Valley.”

  “So the people who are working it now have the incentive to be ruthless killers.” She already knew that. She really did. But saying it made it so much more real.

  “They do indeed.” Gagnon’s voice be
came very, very serious. “Be very careful, ma chérie. You are in the center of a firestorm. You know too much, and I am not happy with what’s happening in Bella Terra.”

  “I can’t run away.”

  “I know that.”

  “I can’t abandon my mother or Nonna.”

  “Your character is too strong for fear.”

  She laughed. “Not true. I’m terrified.”

  “Not terrified enough.”

  “I do know how to protect myself. When I was a kid, my mother made sure I took self-defense, and I teach kickboxing here at the resort.” With a smile, Brooke said, “I’m a killing machine.”

  Gagnon did not sound amused. “It is one thing to know how to hurt another person. It is another to be willing to actually do it. Sadly, you seem to me to be a gentle soul who avoids violence. . . .Remember, ma chérie, in a choice between you and the other guy, it’s better to cry over their spilled blood than to have your mother weep over your casket.”

  “Wow. Thanks for that uplifting lecture.”

  “Chérie . . .”

  At that warning tone in his voice, she got serious in a hurry. “I know. I understand. Strike first, apologize later. I will remember.”

  “I should take you away from there right now.”

  His words struck a chill that went clear to her bones. “Gagnon, I adore you. But I would take that very badly.”

  “Ah, but you would be alive.”

  A few more comments and they hung up, leaving Brooke with the feeling that Gagnon was sincerely worried about her and her safety. How uncomfortable was that, knowing a man she suspected of being an international criminal thought her life was in danger?

  Recalling the corpse that had risen like a horror show from the Dumpster, she felt sick all over again. And this time, Rafe wasn’t there to love her out of her fear. She knew, too, that he would soon solve the trouble that stalked Bella Terra and once again disappear from her life.

  Her mother was right: Brooke would need a real change to distract her from the violence and the murders . . . and her own loneliness.

  But right now, not even Sweden sounded good.