carpeting covered the floor, while high-ticket artwork, or
what looked like it anyway, hung here and there on the walls. A jumbo fireplace,
almost big enough to walk into, sat squarely in the middle of the far wall. A
large mirror hung above it, while a gleaming white grand piano controlled the
right side of the room. A graceful, modernist chandelier, dangling over the
center of everything, provided the only light. The touch of the professional
decorator was everywhere.
Except for the blood.
And it was all over the soft, exquisite yellow carpet
in front of the matching chairs, as well as on the wall behind them. It was all
that was left of Sandra Blake. I stared at it for a few moments, visualizing
her death. And wondering why.
I turned to Colby. "Where's the wine?"
He led me to the kitchen. Next to the big Sub-Zero
refrigerator was a narrow door. He gestured toward it and I opened it.
It revealed a small pantry-like area no more than
two feet wide, shelves rising about four feet off the floor. It had been
converted to a miniature wine fridge. The coolish air immediately drifted out
of it into my eyes and my nostrils, giving me an odd little temporary
pick-me-up. The shelves, each containing semicircular slats, held the wine
bottles. There were about a dozen of them, lounging lazily on their sides,
corks wet and waiting.
"Which one's the big one?" I asked.
"There." He pointed to the floor. There
was a wooden case, unopened. It looked pretty old. It also looked like it
belonged to Sandra Blake, not to either of these jokers.
"The whole case? How many bottles are in it?"
"Six."
Something didn't smell right. Coming over here for
your own clothes is one thing, but this wine sitting there in a big wooden box?
I let them take this, then what was next? Sandra Blake's jewelry?
"The wine stays," I said.
His eyebrows came together in a frown, causing
prominent lines to surge upward on his forehead. They were so prominent, in
fact, I could tell he'd made that move many, many times in his life. "You
can't do that! It belongs to my brother."
"And a broken rib is going to belong to you
if you give me any more shit about this. The wine stays. Now let's go get you
and your brother out of here."
I turned to Ryan. "Give me your key to the
house."
"Hold on, Barnett," Ryan said. "You can't do this."
"I am doing it, junior. Now, put down
the clothes, reach into your pocket for the key, and place it in my hand. This
minute. And give me your driver's license, while you're at it."
"My driver's li —"
His stomach still hurt, I could tell. He didn't
want a repeat blow to it, but my eyes told him there would be one if he
resisted. I slapped him for good measure.
He did as he was told.
Putting the license in my pocket, I escorted them
out, then locked the door behind us with Ryan's key. As we walked over to their
BMW, I told them, "If anyone comes back here for that wine, or for
anything else in this house, Ryan, I know where you live." I pulled out
his license and held it up to his face. "And believe me, you will not
enjoy the consequences."
I opened the driver's side door to the big sedan
and shoved him in.
"Now, both of you get the fuck out of
here."
what looked like it anyway, hung here and there on the walls. A jumbo fireplace,
almost big enough to walk into, sat squarely in the middle of the far wall. A
large mirror hung above it, while a gleaming white grand piano controlled the
right side of the room. A graceful, modernist chandelier, dangling over the
center of everything, provided the only light. The touch of the professional
decorator was everywhere.
Except for the blood.
And it was all over the soft, exquisite yellow carpet
in front of the matching chairs, as well as on the wall behind them. It was all
that was left of Sandra Blake. I stared at it for a few moments, visualizing
her death. And wondering why.
I turned to Colby. "Where's the wine?"
He led me to the kitchen. Next to the big Sub-Zero
refrigerator was a narrow door. He gestured toward it and I opened it.
It revealed a small pantry-like area no more than
two feet wide, shelves rising about four feet off the floor. It had been
converted to a miniature wine fridge. The coolish air immediately drifted out
of it into my eyes and my nostrils, giving me an odd little temporary
pick-me-up. The shelves, each containing semicircular slats, held the wine
bottles. There were about a dozen of them, lounging lazily on their sides,
corks wet and waiting.
"Which one's the big one?" I asked.
"There." He pointed to the floor. There
was a wooden case, unopened. It looked pretty old. It also looked like it
belonged to Sandra Blake, not to either of these jokers.
"The whole case? How many bottles are in it?"
"Six."
Something didn't smell right. Coming over here for
your own clothes is one thing, but this wine sitting there in a big wooden box?
I let them take this, then what was next? Sandra Blake's jewelry?
"The wine stays," I said.
His eyebrows came together in a frown, causing
prominent lines to surge upward on his forehead. They were so prominent, in
fact, I could tell he'd made that move many, many times in his life. "You
can't do that! It belongs to my brother."
"And a broken rib is going to belong to you
if you give me any more shit about this. The wine stays. Now let's go get you
and your brother out of here."
I turned to Ryan. "Give me your key to the
house."
"Hold on, Barnett," Ryan said. "You can't do this."
"I am doing it, junior. Now, put down
the clothes, reach into your pocket for the key, and place it in my hand. This
minute. And give me your driver's license, while you're at it."
"My driver's li —"
His stomach still hurt, I could tell. He didn't
want a repeat blow to it, but my eyes told him there would be one if he
resisted. I slapped him for good measure.
He did as he was told.
Putting the license in my pocket, I escorted them
out, then locked the door behind us with Ryan's key. As we walked over to their
BMW, I told them, "If anyone comes back here for that wine, or for
anything else in this house, Ryan, I know where you live." I pulled out
his license and held it up to his face. "And believe me, you will not
enjoy the consequences."
I opened the driver's side door to the big sedan
and shoved him in.
"Now, both of you get the fuck out of
here."
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