Lethal Vintage Read Free Page A

women wore the sheer tunics with embellished collars that were the ubiquitous trend of the season, Sunny in Moroccan blue, Anna in white, Jordan in black. Soon they were joined by a very tall, well-groomed man in a linen shirt and baggy linen trousers whoplunged in with the confidence of the life of the party. He crushed Franco’s shoulder and kissed the girls on the lips, including Sunny, introducing himself afterward.
    “Keith Lachlan. I’ll sit here next to you if that’s okay.”
    “Keith is Oliver’s lawyer,” explained Anna. “He spends more time with him than I do.”
    “I prefer enforcer. When you have this kind of money, somebody’s always after it,” said Keith, looking over his shoulder. He spoke in a deep, rich voice with a slight accent, vaguely British, mostly American, and something else Sunny couldn’t quite put her finger on. His head was completely bald and covered in smooth brown skin.
    “Where are you from?” asked Sunny.
    “West Indies, my dear. Barbados. But a long time ago, before you were born.”
    Sunny looked at his face. No lines, no beard. He might not even need to shave. At first glance he might be thirty, but now she guessed closer to fifty or even sixty. He leaned around behind her to ask Franco about some business to do with a deposition. Her head felt suddenly heavy, as if she could put her chin in her hand and fall soundly asleep. She stared dreamily at the pitcher of ice water in front of her. The yellow of the lemon rind and the green of the mint leaves and cucumber were as bright and fresh as anything she’d ever seen in her life. She filled her glass. No doubt it had something to do with the mojitos and wine, and the heat of the perfectly cloudless day, not to mention the decadent surroundings and the prospect of being served instead of rushing to cook, serve, eat, and be ready with the next course, which was what she usually did when she tried to relax, since she rarely ate alone. Whatever the cause, the water tasted sublime. The heavy feeling vanished, replaced by what could only be called ecstasy. It was an odd feeling.Things weren’t right between Anna and her boyfriend, that much was clear. And she felt no immediate kinship with the others in their party. And yet the surroundings were so pleasant and her head so dull, she didn’t bother to give much thought to why Anna had called her. She was utterly swept up and engulfed in the sweet and tang of the flavored water, and the scent of garden tomatoes coming off the bowl of couscous in front of her.
    Oliver Seth came from the kitchen with a bottle of wine tucked under his arm, hands loaded with glasses.
    “Anna says you know something about wine.” He pulled the cork, poured a glass, and handed it to Sunny.
    “Like everyone in Napa.” She took a sip. “Syrah?”
    “You got it.”
    “Very nice. Your own?”
    “How’d you guess?”
    “I saw the marker on the vineyard on the way in. And you hold the bottle a little too carefully.”
    “Oliver would bring cases of the stuff to bed with us if I let him,” said Anna.
    “This vintage is our first production after five years of blood, sweat, and tears.” He splashed wine into the other glasses and passed them around. “It’s a bit raw, but it won’t kill us. We have a couple of nice Pinots I’ll open in a minute.”
    Keith Lachlan raised his glass in an enormous hand. “When you started consorting with this guy” —he nodded toward Franco—” I thought for sure we’d find you anchored to the bottom of the bay before it was over. But you guys did it. And you’re still here to drink it.”
    “We did it,” said Oliver, touching his glass to Keith’s and then Franco’s.
    The lawyer quaffed the glass and asked Sunny what she thought. She thought it wasn’t bad. He looked at her, an assessing look she couldn’t decipher. He was taking her measure, but in what context? As a wine expert? A woman? Or simply a conversationalist? The whites of his eyes