“Did you know him, Robson?” I asked.
He paused for a moment, and I wondered if he would answer me. Finally he nodded. “He was a friend of my grandfather.”
It was my turn to flinch. I had not been expecting that answer. I recovered quickly and gazed around the enclosure. “Are these his things?” I asked.
“I do not know, gracious.” Guru Bob often used the endearment, hoping to encourage the person to show a bit of grace.
He turned to Derek. “I would like you to find out as much as you can about this man and these items. How did such a collection wind up in our caves?”
“I’ll be glad to look into it.”
Guru Bob nodded his appreciation. “I suggest you talk to my cousin Gertrude.” He smiled. “Although, officially, she is my first cousin once removed. And you must not call her Gertrude. She goes by Trudy. I believe she could be of some assistance.”
Derek gave me a curious look, and I realized he’d never met the amazing Trudy.
“I’ll introduce you,” I said with a smile.
*
After Guru Bob left, I spent a few minutes strolling alone through the vineyards, silently reflecting on everything that had happened in the last few hours. I was a little ashamed to admit that the most appalling part hadn’t been the discovery of the cave itself or the wondrous treasure hidden behind those thick walls. It wasn’t even the fact that a man may have been murdered there and left to rot for seventy years. No, for me the worst part was that I had been the one to find the body.
I hated to be so self-centered and I promised the sentiment would last for only a minute, but right then and there, it was all about me. Why me?
I felt a strong, protective arm on my shoulders, and I turned and leaned against Derek.
“Don’t despair, darling,” he murmured.
“Me? Despair?” I tried to smile. “How did you know?”
“It’s a completely rational reaction. Especially when it happens to you with such frightening regularity.”
“It’s not fair.” I sounded whiny. That would stop in a minute, too.
“No, it’s not.” He wrapped his arms around me. “I’m just relieved that this one won’t be pinned on you.”
“Thanks a lot.”
He chuckled, and we continued walking along the rows of thick, healthy plantings. The cabernet grapes were plump and dark, and the leaves were beginning to curl and turn orange, a sure sign that autumn was closing in on us. It was my favorite season in wine country, harvest time. I looked up at Derek and realized that this would be his second harvest since we’d been together. Wow, time had sure flown by since he first chased me up here. Back then, he’d been fairly certain I was a murdering vixen who’d killed my mentor for some horrific reason he couldn’t quite come up with.
Ah, memories.
*
A full hour later, two detectives pulled into the parking lot. Derek and I waited to greet them and lead the way to the storage cave. They introduced themselves as Detectives Phil Gordon and Hannah Parrish from the Sonoma County Sheriff’s Department, and they were so pleasant, it was almost scary. I was accustomed to the good-hearted mockery dished out by Detective Inspector Lee of the San Francisco Police Department, so it was a shock to be treated respectfully by these law enforcement officers. A shock, but one I welcomed.
It probably helped when Derek mentioned his bona fides: British Royal Navy commander, ten years in British intelligence with MI6, and now president and CEO of Stone Securities, his company that provided security to the wealthiest people and most precious artwork on the planet.
“And what do you do, Ms. Wainwright?” Detective Parrish asked politely.
“I’m a bookbinder,” I said.
“That sounds fascinating.”
“You have no idea,” Derek murmured.
Twenty minutes later, we were joined by another detective, this one from the Coroner’s Unit, and an assistant from the same department.
Once we were gathered around the hole in the wall of the cave, Derek and I explained what had happened here. It quickly became clear to the sheriff’s people that this was going to be an unusual case. Yes, it was a homicide. That much was obvious. But as far as determining who the killer might be, Detective Gordon admitted that for the first time in his experience, figuring out “who” wasn’t as important as first figuring out “when.”
“Probably the best thing to do,” Detective Parrish said, “is transport the body over to our Forensics Pathology group in Fairfield. They’ll be able to determine the time of death.”
“Or rather, the year of death,” Detective Gordon amended.
“Yeah, weird,” Parrish muttered as she stared at all the odd and beautiful furnishings shoved into this small space.