“Don’t worry about me. If I get lost, or dazed and confused, I’ll call you.”

  She didn’t call me once that day.

  We communicated a lot via text.

  I parked across the street from Aden’s restaurant, and Mom parked in the lot. Hers wasn’t the only car in the lot, so she wasn’t obvious. She’d backed into her spot and slid down low in the seat.

  I have my phone to vidoe anythng if needed, she texted.

  Her typing skills weren’t stellar, but the meaning was clear.

  We sat for nearly an hour, waiting for something to happen. In the interim, Cortnie called to say she’d tracked down the phone numbers on Haris’s call log.

  “Do you want me to go over it with you now?” She sounded excited, so even though I wanted to concentrate on the task at hand, I said it was fine. “I’ll start with the oldest.”

  “Hold up,” I interrupted her. “We’ve got movement. I’ll call you back.”

  Aden had walked out of the restaurant. The front door. I’d expected him to come out the kitchen door for some reason. He wasn’t alone. A young man who looked like a younger version of Aden walked with him. They looked to be having a heated discussion, then Aden cut the younger man off. Could he be Aden’s son?

  The younger man, dressed very well in a suit cut as nicely as Aden’s, threw his hands in the air and stalked off.

  I called my mom. “Mom, follow the younger guy. I’m going to follow the older one.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded, then realized she couldn’t see me. “I’m sure. I may want to have a chat with the old Beck.”

  “I’m on it. When do you want me to report back?” I watched her inch up in her seat and start the car.

  “I’ll call you. Just stay on him. I want to know every stop and take photos of everyone you see him with. Take down the addresses, too.”

  Her voice sounded muffled, so I knew I was on hands-free, and she was getting situated. “Okay.” She sounded nervous again.

  “You got this, Mom.” I wanted her to know I believed in her.

  “I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you. Your guy just drove off, and you’re still sitting here,” she said.

  Aden’s car had barely moved from his parking space.

  This was my mom’s first solo assignment, and it was important. I hoped she’d do me proud. I took a deep breath and decided not to worry. If I didn’t have her assistance, I wouldn’t have anyone to tail the younger man. I’d have had nothing, so anything she got was icing.

  I waited for Aden to drive his red Mercedes AMG GT S out of the parking lot. This was a new car, and if Aden was hurting for money, a $130,000 car wouldn’t be his first purchase. I followed, staying three cars back. This vehicle wouldn’t be difficult to keep tabs on. There weren’t many on the road.

  I wondered if Charles and Nick had seen this Mercedes in person yet. I’d heard them drool over it. It made me sort of giddy just tailing it. Totally a midlife crisis car, and I’d gladly have a midlife crisis if I could afford one. I mean afford the car, not the crisis.

  “I’ve gotta go, good luck.” I hung up.

  Aden had been carrying a briefcase, so he could be headed home, to a meeting, or to the bank. Those were starters. I was hoping the bank. And I hoped I’d be able to chat with him in the parking lot. It was a safe place with cameras and lots of people. Aden had money, and I’d come to learn that people with that kind of money were scary when confronted.

  I unsnapped my holster. I’d be ready to confront him.

  The bank. Good. I didn’t bother to be stealthy once he parked. I let him get out of the car and go into the bank. Typical nice car douchebag, he parked off to the side and took almost three full spaces.

  I pulled up next to his precious Mercedes, close enough he’d never be able to get in his car without having to ask me to move. Now for the $64,000 questions: Should I sit in my car and wait for him to come freak out on me? Should I stand at the back of my car and wait for him? Either way, he’d be more than thrilled to see me. I chuckled to myself.

  In order to enjoy the expression on his face when he walked out of the bank, I decided to get out of my car. I leaned against the back of the Land Rover and waited. And, oh baby, was it worth the wait.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mimi

  Aden’s face turned into a tomato. It looked like it was so ripe if you squeezed it just a little, he’d explode. He picked up his pace and nearly ran across the parking lot.

  I smiled politely.

  “If there’s even a small scratch on my car, I’ll sue the shit out of you.” He bellowed as he approached.

  “Mr. Beck, is that any way to talk to a lady?” I pushed off my car and braced myself in a wide stance. I’d already had my Glock ready. No safety to press on this gun. Glocks don’t have a safety.

  “Lady?” He smirked. “Who the hell are you?”

  I reached out my hand and said, “We’ve met, don’t you remember? I’m Mimi Capurro. I was drinking wine with your daughter last night.”

  “What are you doing here?” He didn’t reach for my hand.

  I left mine out to let him know I wasn’t daunted by him, and I thought him to be an asshole.

  “It struck me as strange that you seemed more pissed off that Haris was dead, than you were mournful. Is that how you are with all of your business partners? Is it a hassle?” I cocked my head and stepped forward as I finally lowered my hand.

  Aden stepped back. “I don’t know who you think you are, but Haris and I weren’t business partners, and how I react to someone’s death isn’t your concern.” He looked at my car like it was bird shit on his windshield. “Now move that thing.”

  I pierced my lips and raised my brows, looking more stoic than I felt. He was tall, dark, and intimidating. “You’re the one parked like someone who didn’t pass his driver’s exam. I’m not sure why you’re berating me. I tell you what. Let’s start over on a nicer note. I’m trying to figure out who killed Haris, and you seem to know him. I’m just trying to figure out a little bit about him. I’m hoping you can help.”

  “I heard it was suicide.” The energy in his body depleted in one breath.

  “He was shot in the head, Mr. Beck.” I didn’t sugar coat the words.“Point blank range, and his brains were all over the passenger seat of his car. If your friend was right-handed, it would make this suicide theory nearly impossible.”

  “How do you know this?” His anger rose up through his collar again.

  “I’m a private investigator. I was there shortly after he was killed. There was no way, unless Haris was left-handed that he killed himself.”

  Aden contemplated the asphalt of the parking lot. Still looking down, he said, “He was definitely right-handed.”

  “Then for sure, murder,” I said.

  He took a slight step to the side, faltering.

  “This is all too much.” He looked up. “I have an auction on Friday,” he said, like it was so complicated.

  “Really? All too much? You’ve said more than once that you’re just acquaintances, and yet, you’re having trouble with it? We don’t even know how to contact Haris’s family. Do you know if he had family here in California? I’ll bet it will be too much for them.”

  He frowned. “He didn’t talk much about his personal life. But he did say he didn’t have family in the United States. He said something about his family being royalty in Indonesia, and they sent him here to protect him.”

  I wasn’t going to elaborate on what I already knew.

  “Mr. Beck, did you know that lot eighteen is counterfeit?” I don’t know why I changed the subject so abruptly, but I was tired of wasting time.

  I also thought Aden knew more than he let on. His restaurant was nice, and maybe he made a lot of money, or had invested well. I didn’t know much about net returns on the restaurant business. Or maybe he did well with the wine auctions, but that Mercedes was a purple cow. I didn’t think a man with just one restaurant in Pacific Grove could afford that car. Then again, I’d been wrong before.

  “Excuse me?” Like he’d never heard of such a thing.

  “Oh, please, I’d never even drank vintage wine before meeting your daughter last night, and I’ve heard of counterfeit wine. Three of the auctions you’ve been attached to in New York have been implicated in wine fraud. So don’t act surprised or like this is the first you’ve heard of it.”

  “Who are you working for?” His facade erased.

  I tilted my head and smirked.

  “Right, whatever. Look, I’m not involved in any fraud. And nothing of the sort is in my auctions.” He shoved his hand in the pocket of his peacoat pocket, his other hand gripped tight to his briefcase.

  “Do you drink coffee, Mr. Beck?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  I shook my head. “I’d like to buy you a cup of coffee and we can talk like civil human beings, instead of standing in a parking lot like strangers who just met. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just trying to find a killer.” I tried to relax my posture, look less accusing. Since I felt accusing, I probably gave off the vibe.

  “I don’t drink coffee, but I’m going to a tea house after this. I will talk to you, but you have to talk to me, too. I want to know about this supposed counterfeit wine.” He looked at his car, his skin going from red to green. “Please don’t scratch my car when you move.”

  “Don’t try to lose me, Mr. Beck. I’m good at tailing, and I have a tracker on your car.” I lied through my teeth.

  “That’s not legal,” he cried.

  “Who are you going to complain to?” I knew I had him. I didn’t know what for, but he had some hand in this. Either the wine, or Haris’s death, and I wanted him to think I was on to him.

  “Follow me,” he said.

  I got into my car and moved it while he waited, sweating it out, as I moved the Land Rover. Of course I acted as if I was having a hard time getting the car started, then I moved the wheels the wrong way, to freak him out. You can’t blame a girl.

  He got in his car, and drove the speed limit, even slowing instead of speeding through a yellow light, so I could keep up. Too kind of him. Like I wouldn’t have run that red light. There were no cars coming from the left or right.

  He pulled into a rundown stucco building on Lighthouse Avenue in Monterey. The business had been painted a puke brown with darker brown vines. Trickle Teas had been painted among the vines. It was barely readable. They should fire whoever told them this was a good logo or good idea for a building color. I’d driven by it a bunch of times in the last months and never noticed it was a business.

  “It’s nicer inside,” Aden said, walking by me. “Do you like tea?”

  Not really. “Love it.” I followed him. “What’s your favorite, Mr. Beck.”

  He turned around, “Call me Aden, and I’ll call you Mimi, it’s just easier. It’s not like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. And by the way, you looked much nicer the other night. I might even have guessed you were one of us.”

  I didn’t think that was a compliment. “I’m not sure I’d want to be one of you, or what one of you even is. I’m sure you recognize my last name though. Capurro.”

  The recognition lit his face. “So, I do. Not by blood, I assume.”

  Ouch. “My dead husband.”

  “Ah.” No sympathy in the word, just acknowledgement.

  He walked by the front counter and raised his hand. Then he raised it again with two fingers held up. He looked back at me and said, “You’ll have what I’m having, because I’m not going to pretend I have the patience to wait for you to look at the menu and order.”

  We walked through the small bistro. It was set up for breakfast, the menu on one wall. It took the full wall and was in chalk. It looked like it may be different each day, with a few staple items. The floors were distressed dark wood planks made to look like they’d been pulled from an old schoolhouse, but I could tell they were cheap wood worked hard and stained. The tables and chairs were mismatched, like the owners purchased them as they had the money, not like it was intended.

  “May I ask what you’re treating me to?”

  We sat in the far corner, out of the way of prying ears and eyes. “White pearls tea. It’s rare, and this lovely place stocks it only for me. White tea has a lovely flavor, but this is newly sprouted buds that are hand-rolled, then gently unfurled when infused. The health benefits are worth the price.” He looked at me with a dead cold stare. “And the anti-aging benefits could help you.”

  I wasn’t going to let his jabs rattle me. “Sounds lovely.”

  The woman who served our tea had to be two hundred years old. She looked like she should be using a cane as she shuffled toward us. Chinese, or some Asian origin, she had wrinkled skin, and white grey hair. She never looked up. She put the tray on the table and served the tea in cups with an infuser, then poured hot water from a white porcelain pot. Aden whispered something to her in what I assumed was an Asian language and she bowed and left the table.

  This place didn’t look Asian, but that was definitely an Asian ritual. I left it, not wanting to intrude on his morning routine.

  “Mr. Aden, about lot eighteen. That lot is definitely counterfeit. If you sell it on Friday, I don’t know what will happen.” I liked letting him know that I knew, but I needed to be nice.

  “You think you know more than I do about vintage wine?” He sipped his tea. “I’ve been buying and selling for fifteen years. My reputation is impeccable.”

  “Like I said earlier. Your reputation isn’t as sterling as you want to think. And that wine is counterfeit. The Sommer family didn’t bottle that label in 1982.”

  “Excuse me, but you’re crazy. You’re speaking of the Domaine Anouk Sommer Cote de Nuits, France, correct?” He had both hands on his tea cup, but I could see him shaking. I didn’t know if it was rage or nerves.

  “Yes, I am.” I looked him in the eyes, challenging him.

  “My dear, I have a bottle of that label dated 1985, so I know this to be a false accusation.”

  And there it was. Holy shit. Aden Beck was in on it with Haris. Aden had told him the Sommer winery had sold that label in the 1980s and so 1982 would be a fine year for the counterfeit wine. I pulled from my reserves to keep my mouth shut.

  “I’m so sorry, my mistake. I must have heard Bruno incorrectly. I thought he said he quit using that label in the seventies. It was a bad connection.” I sipped my tea faster, not wanting to waste its healing and anti-aging qualities. When I downed the last sip a minute later, I stood. “I’m sorry I wasted your time. You obviously are well educated in your wines.”

  He grabbed my wrist. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  His grip was tight. I moved my hoodie aside with my free hand, so he could see my Glock. “I’m telling you to let go of my wrist right now.”

  He wasn’t phased. “Sit your ass back down in this chair. You and I both know you’re not going to shoot me in this restaurant.”

  I sat back down, letting him think I wouldn’t shoot him. But he was dead wrong.

  “You gave that up too easily. Haris knew his wines well. He said he purchased several cases at an auction in London.” Aden’s face glistened with sweat.

  “Does that tea make you sweat?” I asked.

  “Shut up,” he hissed.

  I did exactly as he said.

  His frustration overwhelmed him, and his entire body shook. “You don’t want to screw with me, Ms. Capurro. I’m warning you.”

  I’d had enough. I leaned in and got within an inch of his handsome face. “You might scare your business partners with your attitude and money, but I’ve faced far meaner assholes than you. Don’t forget, I was married to the Capurro family, and I lived to tell about it. So now I’m warning you, don’t screw with me.”

  I leaned back and watched him stew.

  I wanted raised both hands in the air and put my fingers together, then spread them like a witch and say, “Poof, up in smoke. I know more than you’ll ever know I know, and I’m going to take you down. Your little fraud operation is over,” but I stayed quiet, because I needed Max and the FBI to take him and his operation down. This was outside mine and Nick’s jurisdiction.

  I stood again, and he didn’t try to stop me. “And just a couple more things. One, I’d have shot you in that seat and stood here calling 911 after I watched you bleed out. Two, if I find out you were in any way involved in Haris’s murder, I’m going to make sure you get put in the nastiest prison California has to offer. They don’t like rich pussies in those places.”

  I walked out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Charles

  Joe, Ernie Daniel’s manservant, sat outside of McDonald’s in Monterey, smoking a cigarette. I hoped he’d had his last one, because I needed to be nice but hated cigarette smoke. I didn’t want to have to endure the stench, even if we were outside in the stinking “fresh” ocean air.

  I never understood the fishy smell of Monterey mornings.

  “I don’t have much time, and I don’t want anyone to see me.” Joe looked around and lit another stick.

  “I just have a few questions.” I stood downwind.

  “I’ve never betrayed my employer, and I don’t intend to start now. I can’t believe I’m even meeting with you.” I backed up against the wall and slipped down into a sitting position.

  I looked toward the road. This was good, the hedges blocked any view of him, and I doubted Ernie would be making a detour at the drive-thru.

  “You won’t be telling me anything personal about the Daniels family. I don’t want to know anything except what Ernie does on Wednesdays. Does he have meetings, brunch with the wife, a nap?”

  Joe squinted against the sun. “I thought I wasn’t telling you anything about them?”

  “Nothing personal. I need to talk to Ernie today. I’m afraid if I call him in advance, he’ll blow me off. I need the element of surprise.” I squatted down to be at his level, when in no way was I at his level. “I promise I won’t harm him. I’m friends with his son.”

 

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