Red-handed in Romanée-Conti (Winemaker Detective Book 12) Read online

  Praise for the series

  “The perfect mystery to read with a glass of vino in hand.”

  —Shelf Awareness, starred review

  “Light and enjoyable… If you feel like taking an armchair tour of France, they hit just the right spot.”

  —Mystery Scene Magazine

  “Masterful.”

  —Star Tribune

  “Beautifully done.”

  —Bookloons

  “Decadent, delicious, and delightful, the Winemaker Detective series blends an immersion in French countryside, winemaking, and gourmet attitude with mystery and intrigue.”

  —Wine Industry Network Advisor

  “A fun and informative take on the cozy crime mystery, French style.”

  —Eurocrime

  “It is easy to see why this series has a following. The descriptive language is captivating... crackling, interesting dialogue, and persona.”

  —Foreword Reviews

  “The authors of the Winemaker Detective series hit that mark each and every time.”

  —Student of Opinions

  “Francophiles, history buffs, mystery fans, oenophiles will want to add the entire series to their reading shelf.”

  —The Discerning Reader

  “Intrigue and plenty of good eating and drinking... will whet appetites of fans of both Iron Chef and Murder, She Wrote.”

  —Booklist

  “One of my favorite series to turn to when I’m looking for something cozy and fun!”

  —Back to Books

  “Wine lovers and book lovers, for a perfect break in the shadows of your garden or under the sun on the beach, get a glass of wine, and enjoy this cozy mystery. Even your gray cells will enjoy!”

  —Library Cat

  “Recommended for those who like the journey, with good food and wine, as much as the destination.”

  —Writing About Books

  “The reader is given a fascinating look into the goings on in the place the story is set and at the people who live there, not to mention all the wonderful food and drinks.”

  —The Book Girl’s Book Blog

  “A quick, entertaining read. It reminds me a bit of a good old English Murder Mystery such as anything by Agatha Christie.”

  —New Paper Adventures

  “I love good mysteries. I love good wine. So imagine my joy at finding a great mystery about wine, and winemaking, and the whole culture of that fascinating world.”

  —William Martin, New York Times bestselling author

  “It is best consumed slightly chilled, and never alone. You will be intrigued by its mystery, and surprised by its finish, and it will stay with you for a very long time.”

  —Peter May

  The Winemaker Detective series

  Treachery in Bordeaux

  Grand Cru Heist

  Nightmare in Burgundy

  Deadly Tasting

  Cognac Conspiracies

  Mayhem in Margaux

  Flambé in Armagnac

  Montmartre Mysteries

  Backstabbing in Beaujolais

  Late Harvest Havoc

  Tainted Tokay

  Copyright information

  All rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  First published in France as

  Flagrant délit à la Romanée-Conti

  by Jean-Pierre Alaux and Noël Balen

  World copyright ©Librairie Arthème Fayard, 2006

  English adaptation copyright ©2016 Sally Pane

  First published in English in 2016 By Le French Book, Inc., New York

  www.lefrenchbook.com

  Translation: Sally Pane

  Adaptation: Anne Trager

  Translation editor: Amy Richards

  Cover designer: Jeroen ten Berge

  ISBNs:

  Trade paperback: 9781939474650

  E-book: 9781939474667

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  “Great wine requires a mad man to grow the vine,

  a wise man to watch over it, a lucid poet to make it, and a lover to drink it.”

  —Salvador Dali

  1

  The storm ripped through the London sky without warning. Parks and streets were suddenly emptied. Crowds cast adrift under buckets of warm water besieged drugstores, shops, and pubs. Damp but not yet drenched, Benjamin and Elisabeth Cooker managed to duck into the Teanamu Chaya Teahouse, where tranquility reigned.

  Elisabeth decided on tea and an open-face sandwich with ginger preserves and mature cheddar. Benjamin, reading glasses on his nose, frowned and grunted as he inspected the menu.

  “Wakame seaweed brown bread? You’ve got to be kidding. Really, Elisabeth? Couldn’t we have gone to the Ritz?”

  “Benjamin, this is one of the best teahouses in London. Don’t be an old fart. There’s nothing wrong with trying a new take on afternoon tea. Besides, you’re not wearing a tie today, so you’d be entirely out of place in the Ritz’s Palm Court. Even the renowned wine expert Benjamin Cooker couldn’t get through the door in a wool cardigan.”

  “But I always look forward to those delightful finger sandwiches and the Scottish smoked salmon with lemon butter. Oh, and the scones—”

  “Well, here you can have some dim sum and mango-seed cake. Think of it as an adventure.”

  An unobtrusive server jotted down their choices before slipping away.

  “I believe spending the weekend with my father could be enough of an adventure,” Benjamin said. “I’m already missing Bordeaux.”

  “Don’t you even start thinking about work.” Elisabeth leaned back in her chair and gave her husband a signature glare.

  “But the harvests have begun, and wine growers are in need of my counsel. This is a critical time of year for both winemakers and Cooker & Co. I’ve made a practice of being on hand for my clients day and night. You know that, Elisabeth.”

  “Changing your routine will keep them on their toes. They’ll appreciate you more. It’s called scarcity marketing.”

  Benjamin tried his best to put on a mischievous grin. “So, if we’re breaking from tradition, I don’t suppose they have any wine here.”

  “Sorry, the menu says ‘no alcohol.’”

  Benjamin furrowed his brow and looked around the room. “Father always preferred the Tea Palace on Westbourne Grove. He liked looking at the pretty women. Unfortunately, it’s closed now.”

  “I’m sure some of them returned the attention. He cuts quite a figure in those tweed jackets of his, and his eyes are captivating.”

  “He’s used his charm on you. I think he would have made a play for you if I hadn’t found you first.”

  “That’s a bit of a stretch. Your father and I have an understanding. I let him flirt with me, and he knows it’s safe, because I’m fidelity incarnate.”

  Benjamin diplomatically changed the subject. “I understand there’s an excellent boot shop on Lebury Road. Perhaps you’d like to stop there sometime during our visit and pick up a pair. I’ve read they’re both stylish and well-made.”

  “Maybe I will,” Elisabeth said, taking a bite of her sandwich as a server appeared with their tea: a Phoenix-variety oolong for Elisabeth and hawthorn fru
it, billed as tangy and sweet, for Benjamin.

  Benjamin glanced at the folded newspapers on the table. He had stopped at Rococo News and Magazines on Elgin Crescent to pick up the international press and his French newspapers. Even in London he couldn’t go without his Le Figaro, Les Échos, and La Croix. Part of him wished he could start reading, but, in truth, he didn’t want to ignore Elisabeth. She was looking especially lovely with the tan she had gotten during their summer in Cap Ferret.

  Elisabeth looked up from her plate and smiled. “You know, Benjamin, I’m enjoying this trip to London. I’m enchanted, actually. It almost feels like a honeymoon.”

  Benjamin returned her smile with a grin. “Almost? We’ll have to see what we can do about that.”

  After more than three decades of marriage, Benjamin still thought Elisabeth was the most desirable woman he had ever laid eyes on. He especially appreciated her ability to marvel at every instant of pleasure life gave her. He was lucky—even blessed—that she had chosen him as her partner.

  Benjamin enjoyed the aromas of his tea and then took a sip. “This would go nicely with a Flor de Selva cigar, if I were allowed to smoke.”

  “You and your cigars. I wish you’d consider giving them up. I don’t want you meeting your maker before your time.”

  “Haven’t you heard Serge Gainsbourg’s song, ‘God Smokes Havana Cigars’?”

  Elisabeth scowled.

  Benjamin set down his cup. “Don’t make that face, my love. It will give you wrinkles.”

  Elisabeth balled up her napkin and tossed it at him. “We should get going. Your father doesn’t stay up too late these days.”

  Benjamin nodded and looked out the window at the dark clouds. Why had his father insisted that he come right away? This was hardly a good time. Everyone at his offices in Bordeaux was crushed with work, and he was waiting for a call to head to Burgundy as soon as the harvest started.

  But his father wouldn’t take no—much less non with a French accent—for an answer. Could he be preparing for his time to cross over to the other side? Benjamin banished the thought and waved to the server for their check.

  2

  The afternoon storm had washed the city clean, and a cloudless sky reigned over the dark waters of the Thames, allowing the sun to cast its last rays between the heavy drapes of Paul William Cooker’s Victorian apartment. Bursts of golden light bounced off the floorboards and brightened the room.

  Paul William was reading when Benjamin and Elisabeth returned. The former antiquarian struggled to get up from his nineteenth-century wingback armchair, waving Benjamin away when he tried to help.

  “Have you been enjoying your afternoon, Beau-papa?” Elisabeth asked, giving her father-in-law a kiss on each cheek. She always used this term of endearment with Paul William. It was a transformation of the French word for father-in-law, beau-père.

  For the first time, Benjamin noticed that his father’s skin had a sallow tinge.

  “I had hoped we’d have a family dinner with everyone here,” Paul William said as he shuffled across the hardwood floor to the side table, where a bottle of Champagne stood in an ice bucket.

  “What’s the occasion, Father?”

  “I’ll tell you soon enough, Benjy. Despite my hopes, you’ll notice that some Cooker family members are conspicuously absent.”

  Indeed, they were alone with Paul William.

  “Please, sit down.” Cooker senior was over eighty, but his voice was as self-assured as ever.

  Elisabeth and Benjamin looked at each other and did as they were told.

  Paul William set out three tulip glasses, rummaged through a drawer, and pulled out a white tea towel, which he placed over his left arm.

  “Your older brother Edward claimed he had ‘a case of utmost importance’ to plead in court. His third wife, Kathelin, said she had a migraine.”

  They all knew Kathelin was Edward’s third wife, but Paul William always used that full moniker, “his third wife, Kathelin,” with emphasis on the “third.” It was his way of processing his disappointment.

  “Well, that’s an excuse she uses frequently,” Benjamin said.

  “Hmm. I’m sure they’ll both find time to attend my funeral.”

  Elisabeth cleared her throat. “Beau-papa, don’t take it like that. Everyone has busy lives these days. What about Françoise?”

  Paul William harrumphed. “Your sister-in-law’s part-time job as an astrologer seems to afford her free time, but not enough money to take the Eurostar.”

  “She always tells me that London is one of the most expensive cities in the world,” Benjamin said, aware that nothing he could say would assuage his father’s feelings.

  Paul William lifted the bottle from the bucket, wiped it dry, and popped the cork, pouring the golden liquid in a steady stream.

  “First, I say we drink to the two of you, who were neither too busy nor too ungrateful to visit an old man,” he said, handing the Champagne flutes to Benjamin and Elisabeth.

  In a unified ping of crystal, they clinked their glasses. Benjamin examined the bubbles and color, holding the liquid up to the light. He swirled and enjoyed the aromas before taking a sip. But before he could comment, his father spoke up.

  “I’ll get right to the point. I intend to reduce my will to a very few lines. My property will be distributed during my lifetime. The Notting Hill apartment will go to a charity whose name is known only to my friend and solicitor, Mr. Hopkins. As for my liquid assets, I have every intention of making good use of them during my upcoming honeymoon.”

  Benjamin nearly choked. “What? You’re getting remarried?”

  “Benjy,” Paul William said. “It’s time for me to start over.”

  Paul William was holding out his glass to make another toast. The old man’s hand wasn’t trembling, and there was a sparkle in his eyes.

  “That’s wonderful news,” Benjamin managed to enthuse. “To you and your new future. Of course, you chose the perfect Champagne to toast the occasion, a cuvée Amour by Deutz. Look at that golden color scintillating in the glass and those fine bubbles.”

  Elisabeth turned to him and tilted her head. She certainly understood that he was hiding his emotion with what he knew best: describing wines. For now, that was all he could muster.

  “Notice that intense, well-balanced bouquet and the full, lush, opulent attack, the refined, polished texture. And the finish, like yours, my dear father, is lively and crisp.”

  Both Elisabeth and Paul William set their glasses down and applauded.

  “Bravo, son! Well said.”

  “And what is the lady’s name?” Elisabeth ventured.

  “Lucy… Lucy Heaven. She’s the nurse who comes every day to massage my feet and give me a shot. Would you believe I can still make love twice in a row?”

  “Well, well!” Benjamin said, glancing at Elisabeth. She was hiding a grin behind her hand.

  “Yes, once in the winter… And once in summer.” Paul William chuckled, and it reminded Benjamin of the way old English ladies tittered while sipping their gin.

  “Father! You and your bad jokes.”

  “What—do you think I’m incapable of adding some sweetness to a young woman’s life?”

  “I would never assume such a thing,” Benjamin said, wondering how much more he wanted to hear.

  “Yes, I know. At my age, marriage might seem counterintuitive.”

  Elisabeth appeared to be formulating a response, and she was trying hard to look serious. “It’s just that—”

  Paul William intercepted her. “Dear Elisabeth, you’ll say that I’m unpredictable, incorrigible, or who knows what. Okay, I’m all the above, and I intend to remain that way until I take my last breath.”

  “If I may say so, you have many breaths left,” Elisabeth answered before emptying her glass. “Let’s have another t
oast to your love. Right, Benjamin?”

  “That seems most appropriate,” the winemaker responded.

  The Champagne bottle succumbed to the betrothal. The only thing missing now was the fiancée, and Paul William intended to correct that. They would all go out to dinner the following evening.

  “Tonight, I’m having some Pakistani food delivered,” Paul William said.

  Benjamin felt his grip loosen from his glass and caught it just in time. “You really are turning the page, Father.” He turned to his wife. “As we are. Isn’t that right, Elisabeth? Afternoon tea at a trendy Chinese spot, and now an exotic dinner delivered to our door.”

  “Good thing we finished the bottle of Champagne. Pairing it with spicy food would probably push Benjamin over the edge,” Elisabeth said, winking at Paul William.

  “Don’t fret, son. It’s the best Pakistani restaurant in town, and we’ve got some fine Beaujolais to go with it.”

  § § §

  After dinner, Elisabeth kissed father and son goodnight and headed to bed with a book. Benjamin poured the coffee and walked over to the sizeable liquor cabinet in the corner of the room. He dug out an Alsatian pear brandy—a traditional Poire Williams. He’d given it to his father for Christmas the previous year.

  Paul William opened his elm-burr cigar case and handed Benjamin a Lusitania. After tapping the maduro cap and removing the top, Benjamin lit up and let out two voluptuous smoke rings that enveloped his father in a grayish cloak. The two men sat in silence.

  Paul William took out a robusto. “Edward Sahakian gave me this cigar. You’re familiar with him, I’m sure. Edward Sahakian of Davidoff of London.”

  “Of course, Father. I’m a regular there, although I also frequent Dunhill and Fox on St. James Street.”

  “Ah, so you’ve seen Winston Churchill’s very own smoking chair at Fox.”

  “Of course,” the winemaker said.