Nikki Sands was like every other aspiring actress—waiting tables between jobs. But Nikki had taken serving wines to heart. She knew enough to impress Napa Valley’s golden boy, Derek Malveaux, who offered her a job at his vineyard. And though Nikki may have left her dreams of stardom behind, the world of wine is ripe with intrigue—and the seeds of sleuthing are planted…
Nikki has just set foot on Napa Valley’s rich soil when she realizes her new job may not be as safe as she thought. First off, Derek Malveaux is disconcertingly sexy. Second, his top winemaker is dead in the bushes outside Nikki’s cottage. It doesn’t take a connoisseur of foul play to know something’s taken a terrible turn…
Nikki has just set foot on Napa Valley’s rich soil when she realizes her new job may not be as safe as she thought. First off, Derek Malveaux is disconcertingly sexy. Second, his top winemaker is dead in the bushes outside Nikki’s cottage. It doesn’t take a connoisseur of foul play to know something’s taken a terrible turn…
Cheers,
Michele
Chapter 1
Nikki Sands hated her job almost as much as she hated her past. She straightened her crisp white blouse and put on her best smile. She approached the couple at the table she was serving, and couldn’t help but notice the woman watching her with that unmistakable glint of self-importance that judged Nikki to be nothing but the peon who was waiting on them. The woman had a glamour-girl theme about her, but that hair needed a good hairdresser. Hadn’t she heard that frizzy platinum blonde was passé? Not to mention the Pat Benatar smoldering-eye-makeup look.
“Tell me about your wine list. What do you recommend as a good red?” the man asked her. His look, compared to his date’s, was all-the-way chic. Dark blond hair with exactly the right amount of wave to it, mesmerizing ocean-blue eyes, high cheekbones, a golden tan, and a few fine lines gave him the right amount of that rugged-man look. Nikki couldn’t help thinking that Casanova was luscious.
“I’m partial to this nice Medoc-Grand Cru Classe. It’s an excellent choice,” she said, pointing to one of the more expensive wines on the list. “The Bordeaux blend is smooth, and there’s a hint of fruit to it, so it’s not too dry.” If she’d had the money, the stylish Bordeaux would’ve been her first choice. The Medoc wines dated all the way back to Napoleon, and since that time had remained as some of the best out there. “But if you prefer something lighter, a good Red Zinfandel would be nice. We have a small production wine from Napa from the Downing Vineyards. It’s right here.” Nikki’s finger moved to the red zin. Glancing down at the man, her stomach lurched. He smiled up at her. “The Fly by Night Zinfandel,” she said.
“I think we’ll go with the Medoc,” the man replied with an approving smile.
Nikki walked back to the bar to order the drinks from her pal and bartender, Maurice. She winced when an instrumental version of “Stormy Weather” started playing over the stereo system.
“What is it, doll?” Maurice asked. “You don’t like the oldies but goodies?”
“Are you kidding? I love them. What I can’t stand is that this place is supposed to be so upscale, yet we have to pipe in music on a system. I think management should really go all out and get a pianist in here.”
“They’re too cheap,” Maurice replied.
They both laughed, knowing that was the reality. Nikki glanced around to make sure their manager, Steve, wasn’t lurking. Nikki loved music of all kinds. She compartmentalized areas of her life by listening to music and songs. Stressful times, happy times, the handful of boyfriends, life in Los Angeles, and life in Tennessee, even her mother—all of them were associated with their own song, and each of them conjured up memories when she listened.
Nikki noticed that the woman from the table she was waiting got up to go to the powder room, Manolo Blahnik pumps click-clacking as she sauntered across the hardwood floor. She caught up with Nikki at the bar.
“Do us right, hon. I’d like tonight to be special, because I don’t want this one getting away.” She lowered her voice and leaned into Nikki, who got a whiff of her strong gardenia-scented perfume. “Tone down the wine expertise for me, okay?” The overblown blonde winked at Nikki, then proceeded into the rest room, coming back out after a few moments with her collagen-plumped lips painted raspberry-pink.
Something was wrong with this picture, but it wasn’t up to Nikki to make a judgment call. Lately, she’d been attempting to try something very anti-L.A. The concept of not judging others—something she found exceedingly difficult to do, especially in this case.
However, after that out-of-place comment and the trip to the bathroom to do the lacquer thing on those lips, Nikki shamefully threw her new practice out the window and made her first—okay, maybe third—judgment call of the evening. She dubbed the woman “The Bimbo.” What was that asking her to tone down the wine advice about anyway? She was supposed to make suggestions about wines. It was part of her job.
The Bimbo wore something that resembled a Band-Aid across her chest, with a skirt so tight and short that her date looked to be guaranteed to get a return on his dinner investment in the next few hours.
Nikki’s stomach knotted, noticing the way The Bimbo stared at her, as if she were so much better than Nikki, just because she could snag some rich guy. Although her night job was far from glamorous, Nikki was an aspiring actress, after all—a profession, which seemed to garner notice from some men. But, at that moment the thought of being an aspiring actress-cum-waitress made her feel slightly queasy. She’d checked the mirror before coming to work, and there were signs of age that wise women referred to as “the signs of a life well lived.” Nikki called them what they were: crow’s feet. And crow’s feet were the death of every aspiring actress.
The pesky wrinkles aside, Nikki felt pretty good about her looks. She still maintained her natural blonde hair, which she wore just past her shoulders, and she thought her eyes were her best feature. They were kind of a mix between green, gray, and blue, depending on what she was wearing. The handful of boyfriends Nikki had in the past always told her that she was beautiful, even sexy. She was comfortable with her looks, but she didn’t think of herself as a sexpot by any means. Besides, all those compliments had come from men who were hopeful to get a little booty and shake as paybacks to their endearments and attention. Most of the men she’d dated had turned out to be no good . . . But this was no time to think about rotten men. There was wine to be poured.
Nikki filled Casanova’s glass with a tasting of the velvety red potion. He swirled, smelled, sipped, swished, and swallowed.
“Excellent,” he said. “It’s got a different flavor to it. I can taste the berry, but . . .” He looked up at her.
Nikki glanced at The Bimbo, who at that moment looked like a cat about to pounce on her prey. Nikki smiled sweetly. The hell with it. “You’re right, the berry is a currant, but it also has a very smoky blend, with tobacco and fatty flavors,” she replied, while filling both of their glasses.
“It does.”
“Fatty?” The Bimbo asked.
“She’s talking about a bacon-type fat. It’s not put into the wines, but it has to do with the fermentation process, as well as the age of the wood in which the wine gets barreled.”
“Fascinating.” The Bimbo looked up at Nikki. She was vibing some serious daggers. “I see you don’t serve foie gras?”
“Actually, we do,” Nikki replied. “But it’s not always available. May I suggest the escargot? It’s excellent. The chef does it in a puff pastry shell with a white wine and garlic sauce. It would also complement your wine.”
The Bimbo batted her false eyelashes and waved her hand in front of her nose. “I don’t like snails. I find them repulsive.”
Sure, but you’ll eat a poor little duck’s liver.
Casanova didn’t look like he had much empathy for his date. This was getting amusing. Nikki stifled a smile.
“I’m certain there must be something on the menu you’d like,” he chuckled.
“I wanted foie gras,” she whined. “I don’t know if I really want to eat here. It’s not like the service has been spectacular.” She looked Nikki up and down, finally glaring at her.
“I think the service is excellent,” Casanova said mildly.
“Why don’t you take another moment to decide, and I’ll be right back. I might add that, if you’d care for oysters, we are serving them tonight, and they are divine, and we have a lovely Pinot Grigio to complement them with.”
“Super,” The Bimbo replied, her voice laced with sarcasm. “While you’re back there, can you bring me a scotch and water? I’m not much of a wine drinker.”
Boy, this woman was scoring points with Casanova. Was she the same gal who only moments ago asked Nikki not to blow it for her? Her man had plunked down a mean chunk of change on a superb bottle of wine. Now, because she wasn’t getting her duck liver, she needed to make a scene. Nikki figured that from a man’s point of view, she must be good in bed, because why else would anyone put up with that?
Nikki walked to the bar and ordered The Bimbo’s drink.
“Hey, gorgeous, back so soon? Looks like you’ve got your hands full over there tonight.” Maurice nodded in the direction of Casanova and The Bimbo’s table.
“What else is new?”
“You tell me. How’s the acting going?”
“Honestly? It doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. It would appear I’m past my prime at thirty-four,” she said. “Since the few shows I did as Detective Sydney Martini bombed so badly, I don’t know, Maurice. Maybe it’s time for a career change. I don’t think I can handle working here forever.”
Maurice picked up a butter knife and feigned stabbing himself in the heart. “Oh, my apple dumpling, how those words hurt.”
Nikki waved a hand at him and giggled. She and Maurice did have a wonderful friendship, one they’d built over the past three years since she’d started work at the Chez la Mer. He was thirty years her senior and always a good listener. Nikki thought of him as the father she’d never had. “Face it, you love it here. You’ve been here for what, ten years?”
“Twelve,” he replied.
“Twelve. Okay. But bartending is like being a psychologist. Sure, people place orders, but I’ve watched you, and I know how great you are with people. They talk to you. With me, it’s a rare smile and plenty of orders. If it isn’t just so, then I’m the fall guy.”
“Excuse me,” The Bimbo sang out over the din, “Yoohoo.”
Maurice handed her the drink. “I could put a little magic in there, if you know what I mean.” He slyly took out a bottle of eyedrops from his shirt pocket. “She’d leave him high and dry and have to head for the drug store, for a box of Imodium AD.”
“Nah, that’s okay. That’d be bad karma, and I’ve racked up plenty of that already. I can handle her.” Nikki placed the drink on her tray and walked back over to the table.
“It’s about time. Did you enjoy your chat with the bartender?” The Bimbo asked her.
“Sabrina,” the man chided gently. “She’s doing her job.”
Nikki smiled at him. The Bimbo cleared her throat, as if Nikki were committing a crime by smiling at her date. “I apologize. Consider it on the house,” Nikki said, setting down the drink. But as she did, the woman shifted and started to stand. The drink spilled all over her short skirt.
The Bimbo gasped, her eyes wide with shock from the cold drink seeping down her scantily clad body.
“You idiot! Are you totally incompetent? What the hell is wrong with you? This is a freaking Versace. You know Versace?” She rolled her eyes at Nikki. “Why am I bothering to say this to someone who buys her clothes at Wal-Mart?”
That hurt. Especially since she’d bought her shirt at Target, which she pronounced “Tarjay.” Don’t go there. Don’t tell her what she really is. Don’t . . .
“I certainly didn’t mean to. I really am sorry. I’m sure it can be cleaned. Please send us the cleaning bill.” Nikki could hear the trace of her Southern accent coming through. At that moment, she looked around and noticed the entire clientele was observing the scene, and that both the chef and manager had stepped forward.
The Bimbo pointed a finger at her and blurted, “No. It won’t come clean. It’s ruined. I can’t go out like this,” she said, then turned her focus to Nikki’s manager. “She can’t do her job, it’s obvious. She’s flirted with my date, had a gab session with the bartender, and now she spills a drink on me. I don’t think so.”
Casanova took The Bimbo by the arm. “Quiet down. Let’s all relax. It was an accident, okay?”
The Bimbo yanked her arm out of his hand. “Accident, my ass. That clumsy woman spilled my drink all over me and ruined my fifteen-hundred-dollar outfit.”
“I wouldn’t have spent fifteen dollars on that,” Nikki muttered. Oops. Self-control was another issue Nikki was working on, but a person can only take so much abuse, and this broad had tried her patience. Not to mention she’d insulted her fashion sense.
“I heard that. Now she insults me. Unbelievable,” The Bimbo said, spinning back around to face Steve, the restaurant manager. “I want her fired. I have a lot of friends in high places. I’ll tell all of them how terrible this place is, if you don’t do something about her.” She pointed a long lacquered nail at Nikki.
“Nikki,” Steve said, his face beet-red.
Casanova pulled The Bimbo to the side and was saying something to her. Even though the manager beckoned Nikki, she couldn’t help notice out of the corner of her eye that the cute guy seemed to be chewing out The Bimbo.
“Listen—”
Nikki held up her hand before her manager could continue. “Don’t bother, Steve. I know what you’re going to say. I’m sorry I caused such a problem tonight. It’s not a big deal. I’ll make it easy for you.”
Nikki could see by the look in Steve’s eyes that he did feel bad, but she knew he had no choice. She couldn’t blame him at all. She went into the kitchen and grabbed her purse.
Maurice followed her. He held out a drink to her. “Hundred-year-old scotch, princess. Drink it with me.”
She smiled and fought back any emotion. Why was she so upset anyway? She hated this job and its bad sound system. It was a miserable job. Well, except for Maurice. Steve was okay, too.
“You have customers.”
“Forget ’em. They can wait a few while I have a nip with you.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I certainly don’t want to get you canned, too. Actually, I wasn’t fired, not technically. I quit,” she said, half-laughing. She was trying really hard to fight back her tears, which were a mixture of anger, shame, and that feeling of failure that sticks in the gut.
He waved a hand at her like she was being silly, which she knew she was. Steve would never fire Maurice. He was as much a part of Chez la Mer as the pristine crystal chandelier in the entryway. He held up his glass. “To bigger and better things for the princess.”
She clinked her highball with his and watched as the amber liquid swirled around inside the glass. She took a sip of the bold smoky drink. Very smooth—all the way down. Her stomach warmed. “That is good,” she said.
The chef came in, poured himself a glass, too, and nodded at Nikki with a smile. He was a man of few words, but he could make dirt taste divine, and Nikki knew that he liked her. He was always giving her his latest dessert invention to try first or to take home with her. She’d miss him, too.
The chef took his glass, walked back over to the stove, and picked up where he’d left off. Nikki finished the contents of her glass, leaned in, and gave Maurice a kiss on the cheek.
“Don’t be a stranger,” he said.
“I won’t.”
“You shouldn’t be alone. Are you going home?”
“In a bit. I think I’ll stop off at the Liquid Potion and have another drink,” she said.
“Be careful.”
Nikki pulled on her sweater and went out the back entrance, not wanting to have any more contact with The Bimbo or Casanova. She shut the door behind her and leaned against it, tears finally flowing freely. So she’d hated the job, wanted to move on . . . This was simply the catalyst to get her to do so. But the reality was, she had no prospects. Her acting career was pretty much sunk.
Now she’d have to figure out what her thing really was, because the rent would come due in a couple of weeks, and Nikki was already low on cash. She knew that Aunt Cara would help her out if things got completely desperate, but Nikki didn’t want to put either one of them in that position.
She wiped away the tears, stood up straight, and started walking up the street. No more of this feeling sorry for herself. That Nikki Sands was far, far away. The new Nikki Sands was a survivor who could figure out what she wanted from life. She had to, because there was no way, no-how, Nikki was going backward after coming this far.
She walked a few blocks up the street and entered the wine bar off Wilshire Boulevard, looked around and found an empty seat at the counter bar. It was a bit early yet for the party crowd. She was glad, because the patrons who were already there were dressed to the nines, and her cheap white blouse, as crisp as it might be, along with her waitress’s standard black crepe pants, were not working with this crowd. Yes indeed, wine was in order.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked. Young, California-tanned, and athletic, he matched the decor of the place—faux-finish golden walls, candles in Gothic iron candelabras, crushed copper velvet draperies. Segovia’s guitar music played in the background. Very Hollywood. Maybe she should’ve walked a bit farther east and found something more like a dive to drown her sorrows in. She was looking a bit pool-bar girl for such a swanky place. Screw it. She was here and ready for some vino.
“I’ll take a glass of your Saddleback Sauvignon Blanc,” she answered. “And can you fill that to the brim, please?” It was a bit pricier than what Nikki wanted to pay, but it isn’t every day that a bimbo wanting desperately to be Paris Hilton turns your life inside out. So why not splurge?
“Nice wine,” a deep voice from behind her said. “This seat taken?”
Nikki lifted her head to see none other than Casanova sliding onto the stool next to her.
“I thought I might buy you a glass of wine, as well as apologize for my date’s rudeness. You ran out before I got the chance.”
Silenced by surprise, Nikki shifted on the suede-covered bar stool and nodded, then shook her head. “Wait.” She found her voice, ironed out the drawl in it before speaking again. “Let me get this straight. You’re here to apologize to me and buy me a drink?” She searched the bar. “What’s the deal? Where’s Ms. Thing? Is she hiding in the wings? How did you find me, anyway?”
“Bring me a bottle of the Saddleback Cellars,” Casanova said to the bartender, who set Nikki’s glass down in front of her. Casanova then picked up the appetizer menu and scanned it. “Can we also have a plate of your goat cheese and mixed mushroom bruschetta?” He turned back to her and stuck out his hand. “I’m Derek Malveaux. I hope you don’t mind an appetizer. Sauvignon Blanc goes so well with mushrooms.”
Nikki hesitantly returned the handshake. “Okay.” She couldn’t think of anything more intelligent to say at the moment. She was stunned at the turn of events.
“I’m not here to prove anything. I felt terrible about the incident at Chez la Mer. My date treated you horribly. I called for a car to take her home. And as for finding you? Seems your bartender friend agreed with me that you would appreciate an apology. I got your job back, too, if you want it.”
For the second time in less than five minutes, a wave of shock overtook her. Nikki shut her trap again, having to think hard for a response. She had no clue as to what to make of this man. Why on God’s green earth would he do such a thing for her? After all, he had it in the bag with The Bimbo. What was his deal? “I get it. You’ve decided to go for the vulnerable girl, the one who’s just lost her job.” She knew she was far more of a challenge than The Bimbo, and men supposedly liked the thrill of the chase.
He eyed her. “No. I really am here to tell you that I’m sorry and buy you a drink.”
“Okay.” He was hot, he had good taste in wine, and she didn’t have any other prospects. But Nikki wasn’t a bimbo, and memories of her last breakup warned her to tread carefully. She promised herself to keep it all together, including blouse buttons and pants zipper. The next man she allowed to get her naked would most certainly be one she was in love with. Gorgeous or not, she was sure that Casanova was far more interested in getting naked than in experiencing love.
Nikki held up her glass of wine. “Here’s to apologies accepted.”
They clinked their glasses and brought them to their lips. Derek’s lips were full, with a perfect cupid bow in the center of the upper one. They were very sexy, and kissable. The bartender set the bruschetta in front of them. They each took a bite.
“You’re right. The Sauvignon Blanc works well with this. Good idea. So, tell me, Mr. Malveaux . . .”
“Derek, please.”
“Okay, Derek. Tell me what happened to your date. She didn’t exactly seem to be your type. And, to be blunt, are you hitting on me?”
“Sabrina, my date for the evening, was not someone I would have asked out. I can tell you that much. I don’t live here in Los Angeles. I’m down for business, and one of my clients set the two of us up. Trust me. All I wanted to do today was have my meetings and go back to the Century Plaza, maybe have a massage in the spa, order room service, and retire for the night. And, no, I am not hitting on you. I’m apologizing to you over a glass of wine.”
Nikki sized him up. Was this really the truth? Hard to say. There were plenty of men out there who knew how to tell a good story. This was L.A., and for all she knew, Derek was an aspiring actor with a bunch of fables ready to tell to any damsel he wished to bed. “Why didn’t you cancel the date?”
“My client said she was a nice woman, and—”
“Had a nice bod.”
“Yes, he did add that. I should’ve canceled, anyway, even if I might lose an account.”
“I can’t believe that. Over a defunct date?”
“She’s best friends with my client’s wife.”
“Then he’d have to be one shallow jerk. I hope that’s not the case. I’d feel even guiltier for losing you your client than for spilling a drink all over your date’s designer outfit.” She laughed. The wine was making what he was saying easy to buy into. He poured her a second glass. They polished off the bruschetta.
“Tell you what,” Derek said. “Why don’t we go back to the Plaza? Have dinner with me. I’ll get you a car back to your place afterward.”
Nikki shook her head. “I don’t know about that.”
“It’s only dinner.”
It wasn’t like he was coming on to her. In fact, Nikki felt a bit irritated at the fact that he hadn’t come on to her—at all. Was her getup that bad? Oh, God. Maybe she should’ve checked herself in the mirror in the bathroom. What if her mascara had run all over the place? And stress could make her break out in hives, too! What if Derek was staring at a red, rash-pocked face with a running black mascara mess? Not to mention, she hadn’t taken a comb to her hair since walking from Chez la Mer to the bar, and there’d been a slight wind. This could not be good. She’d been dead wrong about Derek Malveaux. He really had only wanted to apologize to the pitiful waitress.
“What’s the matter, Nikki?”
“I, you know, should really get home. I’m sure you’re tired. I’m tired. It’s been a stressful evening for me.”
He frowned, and the few lines on his forehead crinkled together, as he appeared hurt by her response.
She touched his hand. “This has been great, and I really appreciate the apology. But, please, you don’t have to do any more for me tonight.”
“I don’t get you,” he said. “One minute, you think I’m making a play for you. The next minute, I’m Saint Derek.”
“I don’t know. At first I thought you were trying to score with the ditzy waitress, which by the way, I am not. But, I’ve sat here with you for a while, and not once have you even tried to flirt with me.”
“Let’s start from the beginning, okay? I think you are a very beautiful woman. I’m sorry that the woman I was out with was so horrendous to you; so, yes, I felt that an apology was in order. Yes, I did, and do, want to get to know you better. However—” Nikki started to comment. He held up his hand to her, and she closed her mouth in response. “However, I am not trying to get you into bed. I’d like to have dinner with you, and I actually may have a proposal for you. Something you might be interested in.”
“Are you some positive-thinking guru? You know, the kind who teaches that you can do anything you want as long as you try? Achieve your dreams, blah, blah, blah.”
“No, but I believe in that way of thinking. I own a winery. That’s how I make my money.”
Then it hit her. Malveaux Estate. Some of the best Cabernets and Merlots to come out of the Napa Valley region. A major winery. They also produced a Chardonnay that was quite good. Nikki couldn’t afford the wines, but working at Chez la Mer, she’d tasted a few. It now made sense to her why The Bimbo had made that comment to her about her wine expertise. Nikki was a threat to her.
“Derek Malveaux,” she replied in wonderment. “Of Malveaux Estate?”
He nodded. “What do you say, we head over to the Plaza, have dinner, and I’ll tell you my proposition?”
“I’d say you’re on.”
The evening hadn’t gone as planned, but it certainly hadn’t been boring. And, Nikki had to admit, she couldn’t help wondering what Derek Malveaux’s proposal might be.
Goat Cheese and Mixed Mushroom Bruschetta
If you want to make an elegant but easy appetizer, try the Goat Cheese and Mixed Mushroom Bruschetta. Sauvignon Blanc is a good choice to accompany this treat. It is light and fruity, which enhances the earthy flavors in the bruschetta. Nikki and Derek shared a delightful bottle of Saddleback Cellars Sauvignon Blanc with their appetizer. The Sauvignon Blanc contains a citrus and hibiscus nose with a wonderful gold/green color. The wine is crisp, with a clean acid balance and light sweet oak; it’s youthful and is a perfect food wine. It will give you the flavors of summer and the pleasures that come from a well-crafted wine. Enjoy!
5 ounces Portobello mushrooms
4 ounces shiitake mushrooms
2 ounces oyster mushrooms
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 shallots
minced cloves of garlic
¼ cup chicken broth
⅓ cup dry white wine
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried basil
salt and red pepper flakes
12 slices of rustic baguette: sourdough, Italian, even whole grain for the health conscious
4 ounces goat cheese
ripe red tomatoes, cored & diced
Chop the mushrooms. Heat olive oil and butter over medium heat in a sauté pan. Add the shallots and garlic and mix for 1-2 minutes, stirring often. Add the mushrooms and raise the heat a bit. Mix everything for about 8 minutes. Add chicken broth, white wine, and dried seasonings and cook until the liquid is evaporated. Season with salt for taste. Preheat broiler. Spread the bread slices with goat cheese and spoon the mushroom mixture evenly over the bread. Place the tomatoes on top. Broil for 4 minutes, or until mushrooms begin to brown. Serves six.
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