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  It was Simon, of course, accompanied by Marco.

  “Oh, Bellissima, where have you been?” Marco rushed to her and held out a brandy snifter.

  “I see you two haven’t wasted any time getting comfortable.”

  “We knew you’d have the good stuff,” Simon said.

  “Give me a break. That mansion you live in has bottles worth thousands in the cellar, not to mention you could have gone into the warehouse for a nice bottle of wine.”

  “Sure, Snow White. Do you really think my mommy dearest left us the key to the cellar? And besides, we weren’t about to head into the warehouse with some bogeyman in the hood.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. Simon did have a point about his mother, Patrice. When the boys’ father died, she inherited the home and the boys inherited the winery. Patrice was not exactly mother of the year by any stretch of the imagination, and since Nikki had first arrived at the winery, she’d done what she could to chase her away. Eventually Nikki won that battle and Patrice was currently residing in Greece. Simon and Marco promptly took over the big house on the hill, while Derek remained in the ranch style he’d built by using the frame from an original barn that stood on the property.

  Nikki eyed Ollie standing over his dog dish, ground beef in his bowl. “I see they tempted you with the good stuff, huh, Cujo? Nice going, letting the riffraff in.”

  “He seemed hungry,” Simon said and sneezed. “I just took my allergy pill.”

  “I don’t know how you could really be allergic to him. He hardly has any hair at all.”

  Simon dismissed her comment. “It should kick in soon. I always forget he’s like a permanent fixture here.” He pointed to Ollie.

  Guilt flooded her upon realizing that in her afterglow of the late afternoon events with Derek, she’d forgotten to feed Ollie. Bad mommy! She bent down next to him and he looked at her like he was definitely pissed off at this faux pas. “I’m sorry, bud. My bad. Aren’t you lucky the boys stopped by? And now that I’m home, you two can skadoodle on up to your place.”

  “Skadoodle? No way. We want the scoop. What gives? Like, where have you been?”

  “Taking care of a few things. And what are you talking about? Scoop about what?”

  Marco frowned. “At this hour, and after this evening, you were taking care of things. What things?”

  “You can do better than that,” Simon said. “We’ve been worried about you.”

  “Worried about me?”

  “Duh. Killer on the loose? Marco and I do worry, you know.”

  “Yeah, right. You two don’t worry about me. You know that I can take care of myself.”

  “Yes, we always worry, Bellissima, but the honest truth is we want to know what Detective Robinson was talking to you about.” Marco brought his snifter up to his nose and took a long whiff.

  Simon frowned. “Yeah, so what gives with you and the hot detective hanging out in the corner talking all hush-hush-like?” He rubbed his hands together. “Now dish, dish. And what did take you so long to get back here? Sansibaba let us out almost an hour ago.”

  She sighed. There was no way of getting around this. These two were relentless, and when they wanted an answer, she’d learned that either she’d have to eventually lie—and that typically meant some long, convoluted bullshit story—which she didn’t like doing but at times found necessary. Or she’d have to give them the real scoop, and in this instance it could behoove her to tell them the whole truth and nothing but.

  When she was finished, both of them were speechless. At first.

  “Whoa, there, Snow White. Back up an eensy-teensy second,” Simon said.

  The slack-jawed silence couldn’t have lasted. “Yes?”

  “That part about this Jen who has to be Iwao’s son and Sierra Sansi, and then the Sansibaba—”

  “Alan,” Marco interrupted. “He wants to be called Alan.”

  “Whatever. Okay, so you’re not thinking that somehow Alan or his daughter is tied into this?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know what to think. It’s some strange stuff, boys.”

  Simon shook his head. “No, no, I don’t think so. We’re so not going there. We are all enlightened people, not killers, especially not Alan or any of his family.”

  “I disagree,” Marco said. “I do think it was one of the members. I think that people can be fantastico at hiding who they really are. And that is what we are looking at. A person with a mask.”

  “Maybe so. Tomorrow I’m going to dig out my books from my aunt’s library—they’re still packed away—and read up on sociopaths and psychopaths. Two slightly different personalities but both could be killers, and if we can find one basically wearing a mask, Marco, then we’re on to something. Let me ask you, how well do you two know any of these people?”

  “Not very,” Marco admitted. “You know we are some of the newest members.”

  “I can’t believe you would think that someone who follows Alan Sansi would do such a thing,” Simon said. “Much less Alan himself.” Ollie had come over to where Simon sat on the couch and nudged Simon’s hand, whining. “Go away. You can’t have the couch. Go. For God’s sake, we fed you ground sirloin.”

  “Go lie down, Ollie,” Nikki said. Ollie looked at her and then came over and plopped himself on the floor next to her feet.

  “You obviously have had some contact with Alan. What do you know about him on a personal level?” she asked.

  “He’s who he says he is, Snow White. He is the real dealio,” Simon said. “And I am appalled that you would think the worst.”

  “Really?” she asked.

  “No. I take that back. Cynicism seems to be in your nature.”

  “That is not true. I’m a very positive person. What I don’t do is always take people at face value.”

  “His son is strange,” Marco muttered.

  “What do you mean?” Simon asked. “I didn’t think so. I found him delightful just like the Sansi—er...I mean, Alan.”

  “I sat by him for some time tonight, and he’s not like his father. I get the feeling he wants to be his father, but he doesn’t feel real to me,” Marco replied. He snapped his fingers. “Like the mask. I think Eli Sansi wears a mask.”

  “I kind of get a strange feeling from him. I guess he’s also writing a book, and then Iwao was offering to maybe publish the book, but Alan shut that down quickly, basically saying that their loyalty needed to remain with Inspiritus. That’s understandable, considering that Rich Higgins is his publisher and soon to be his son-in-law. But Iwao was determined to get Sansi’s business, at least the foreign rights to publish his stuff in Japan,” Nikki said. “Did Eli do something in particular that made you feel this way, Marco?”

  “No. He . . . I don’t know. It is a feeling that I have. Like it is . . . What do you say? An intuition thing.” He rubbed his gut. “Right here. You know? I get this sense he has jealousy toward his father.”

  “Oh come on.” Simon wrinkled up his nose and took a long sip off his brandy.

  “No, no, really. I watched him watch his father tonight, and in his eyes I see a man with a jealous soul. Children can be jealous of their parents, and his father is a great man.”

  Nikki ran some ideas by the boys of summer. “If Eli is jealous of his father and Sierra is one angry, resentful daughter, for reasons that could possibly be tied into Iwao Yamimoto, maybe we have a family affair on our hands. Maybe one of them did it? Or a couple of them? Or one planned it out and one executed it. This could not bode well for Sansi’s public relations. Could one of his family members be looking to actually sabotage their dad? Once this hits the press, you know what will happen. There will be speculations and accusations. Even Robinson himself asked me if the group was a cult.”

  “That rat bastard.” Simon crossed his legs and stretched out onto the sofa. “Awfully cute rat bastard, but all the same, how dare he? We are not a bunch of Tom Cruises waiting to jump on Oprah’s couch declaring our devotion to our loved ones, a
lthough I’d do that for you.” He looked at Marco who smiled. “Maybe for you, too, Snow White.”

  “To be so lucky,” Nikki replied.

  “Yes, well, and Scotty didn’t beam us down from the Enterprise. We are the real deal.”

  “I know. I know you’re the real deal, Si. Look, let’s take this a step further with the Sierra Sansi angle. She apparently knew Iwao, and she and this Jen, who looks to be his son, were more than friends from that photo I saw. They looked pretty cozy. I wish I could have understood Mizuki better. I know Robinson is tracking down an interpreter, but something tells me he won’t make me privy to what she tells him. And she may not tell him what she’s told me. Robinson can be intimidating and Mizuki may not want to talk with him around. Maybe we could find a private interpreter on our own.”

  Simon studied her. “I don’t like the sound of any of this. I can see the brain going zoom, zoom, zooma zoom in there, and you just need to chill and let that detective do his job. Quit being a Nosy Nikki.”

  Nikki ignored his comment and continued on, more for herself than for the two of them. She was fleshing thoughts out and they were coming out fast and furious and she had to tell someone. If she forgot her ramblings, maybe Simon and Marco would be able to prod her later. “I haven’t figured Hayden out. Although she kind of fits the normal mold. She’s polished and sophisticated, and from my conversations with her, pretty much in charge of a lot of her dad’s business and definitely his financial affairs. Lulu Sansi also appears pretty down to earth, but again, looks can be deceiving. What we don’t know is when the killing took place. We need to narrow that down. Where had Iwao said he was going when he got up from the table and who did he say it to? My guess is Mizuki.”

  “It is interesting,” Marco said. “I agree with you that maybe the Sansi family had skeletons to hide in their closet.”

  “Marco,” Simon said in a tone that could only be interpreted as shame on you. “You’re encouraging her.”

  “No. Think about it for a minute. Alan is rich and famous because he is this supposed spiritual genius. His one daughter seems to have many problems, and his son is a jealous man. Does that not make you think it is strange?” Marco’s face darkened.

  Simon shook his head. “No. It doesn’t. You think about it. Each of us is our own individual and because of that we have choices. His children are not a reflection of who he is.”

  This was kind of an ironic twist because Marco had been Alan Sansi’s staunch supporter when Simon had strayed, wanting nothing more than shopping sprees at Barneys and mimosas aplenty at breakfast. If Marco could see the real light here, why couldn’t Simon? Dysfunction junction resided at the Sansi family’s castle.

  “Possible.” Marco shrugged.

  “How about anyone else? Did you notice anyone who seemed kind of off, or who may have been missing for any period of time while we were on the train?”

  Marco nodded. “Kurt Kensington. He’s a new member, too. He sat with me in one of the groups tonight. I could not understand who he is. Another hard man to figure out. I asked him what his business is, and all he said was that it was his own.”

  “Stop it. Stop it already. You’re indulging her. Jeez Louise, don’t you see what is happening here? She’s slipped right into her Little Miss Detective mode. Stop it, both of you. No good can come of it,” Simon remarked.

  This time they both ignored him.

  “That is kind of strange,” Nikki replied. “Was he the guy that was hanging on Sierra for a while?” She remembered Juan Gonzales telling Alan and the group seated with her about it. It was shortly after that everyone had excused themselves from the table for various reasons, and Nikki had been left alone with Iwao and Mizuki. When had Iwao gotten up from her table and whom had he been seated with? Nikki could not remember. They’d all been moved so many times from table to table. When Alan had started off the evening, he’d said that people could move around freely and settle in where they felt comfortable with each rotation. She thought she’d met everyone that evening, but it would be Mizuki who would know when Iwao left the table and how long he’d been gone.

  “Oh, I think that Kurt guy is so cute,” Simon said.

  “He’s an ass,” Marco replied.

  “I thought we were enlightened and didn’t make judgments.” Simon pouted.

  If Nikki had had a glass of wine to suck down at that second, she would have either choked on it or swallowed it at once. She’d already finished off her brandy, and in conjunction with the Sleepytime tea and the late hour, she was growing tired. But the thing about Simon not being judgmental? That kind of jolted her. She’d watched his transformation since becoming an Alan Sansi member and he’d definitely mellowed, but judging others was one of his favorite pastimes. It usually drove Marco crazy.

  Marco waved a hand. “We are. We really are, but I am telling you, Kurt Kensington was filled with ego.”

  “That’s why he is here, then, and we are supposed to help him.”

  “You two, stop. Look, Iwao Yamimoto died tonight. He was murdered! Okay? And between you and me and Ollie . . .” She glanced at the dog, and knew she probably shouldn’t share this with any of them, except for the dog, but decided to do so anyway. “Detective Robinson has asked me to keep my gut in check and see what I can learn about these people and who might have wanted to kill Iwao.”

  Simon sat up straight and slapped both hands on his knees. Marco’s eyes widened and they simultaneously said, “Oh!”

  “So all that talk going on between you wasn’t flirting?” Simon asked.

  “You can’t be serious,” Nikki replied. “Sometimes you are so ridiculous. I’m in love with your brother. You know that. Robinson is not my type even if I was single.”

  “Right. Robinson is everyone’s type, honey.” Simon rubbed his hands together. “Let me get this straight, you’re playing Robin to Robinson’s Batman?”

  “The beautiful detective’s sidekick. This sounds like a problem, Nikki,” Marco added.

  Simon nodded and she gritted her teeth.

  “You two. You both have dirty minds. Get the smut out of your head, because I’m going to need the two of you to help me to help Robinson.”

  “Nikki! What would Derek say?” Simon asked. “You have been involved in these types of situations before and I know my brother dear isn’t too keen on you playing Sherlock Holmes. He really won’t like you playing Watson to Detective Luscious.”

  Nikki had already thought about what Derek might say. She knew she’d have to call him first thing in the morning and tell him what had happened. It was almost one o’clock in the morning California time and she needed to get to bed in order to even think clearly tomorrow—although technically it was already tomorrow. Yes, she did need to get to bed. Derek still had an hour in the air and then had to get checked in at his hotel. She wished he hadn’t taken the red eye.

  “I’ll talk to Derek as soon as I can, and like I said, get your mind out of the gutter. Robinson needs help and he asked me because he knows I have good instincts.”

  “He knows you’re a good snooper,” Simon said.

  Nikki didn’t even respond. “I want you two to think about this. There is likely a killer in this group. It’s not a huge group of people. You two are now on the inside, so to speak. I am the coordinator, but I think since you two will be involved in everything going on this week from journaling and crying out your feelings . . .”

  “We don’t cry, we breathe through them,” Simon said.

  “Whatever. While you’re breathing through your feelings, you can be listening and watching the others. I’m going to bed now and then when you two get up, which will be when I get up at the crack of dawn—doesn’t matter that it’s almost the crack anyway—we will have coffee together and go over each one of the members. Then the three of us are going to get buddy-buddy with them. We’ll each take a handful and see what we can come up with.”

  “I don’t want to do that. It feels so icky wrong,” Simon said.r />
  Marco nodded. “It does feel wrong, Nikki. I do not think that it is a good idea.”

  “Oh yeah. Here are your choices, boys. Let a killer run loose on the vineyard. That’s one choice. Or help me help the police and I won’t tell Derek about the hundred thousand dollars you spent to become members of this group.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Simon said.

  “Try me.”

  Marco looked at Nikki, then to Simon. “I think she would.”

  “See you in the morning. Coffee is at seven. I’ll have the list already made.”

  Marco turned and smiled, giving her a little wave. Simon slammed the door behind them. She laughed, knowing that both the boys of summer were as in on this as she was. They just had very different ways of expressing themselves. Simon liked to use his dramatic flair and Marco played coy and sweet, but she knew when the coffee was steaming hot in the morning, her pals would be right there with her going over her list of suspects and ready to track a killer.

  Ten

  THE boys had joined Nikki for coffee as she’d predicted. She’d gotten up earlier than usual, even though she’d had only a few hours of sleep. It was just past six when she woke up, much to the dismay of Ollie, who’d slept on Derek’s side of the bed. Nikki hadn’t fought him. She’d been too tired and he was a warm body.

  She hemmed and hawed about calling Derek. It would have been past nine in New York. He’d gotten in, in the middle of the night, so she justified holding off giving him a call and apprising him as to what had happened. It was possible, even likely, he was still asleep. She knew that he wouldn’t be meeting old man Vicente until lunchtime. Deep down she knew that the real reason she wasn’t making that phone call just yet was because of the reaction she would likely get on the other end; Derek was going to come unglued when he heard about what happened.

  She’d had time alone while drinking her first cup of coffee to consider what she knew about the murder.