Chapter 13 #2
Nick rolled his eyes. “Spoilsport.”
Five minutes later we pulled into the car park of a newly renovated villa.
The crisp signage out front read The Decanter Room.
Since many of the vineyard-based restaurants operated under limited hours during the winter season, I’d opted to trust the promising early reviews of a newly opened wine bar.
The menu offered a good selection of Spanish tapas along with an impressive wine-by-the-glass selection.
With the lunch hour well and truly finished, the place remained busy. A good sign.
As the designated driver, Nick opted for a low-alcohol beer while I paid homage to the wine that first elevated New Zealand vintners onto the world stage—a mouth-watering local Sauvignon Blanc.
Nick eyed my choice with a raised brow. “I thought you preferred reds?”
“I do. But this isn’t red country, grasshopper, at least not the ones I love. When in Rome . . .” I circled my hand in the air and didn’t bother to finish.
Nick raised his beer in a toast. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Tomorrow, we’ll hit a brewery,” I promised, a comment, which earned me a toe-curling smile that went all the way to my dick.
We clinked glasses and sat in silence, sipping on our drinks and digesting what we’d learned.
It was one of the best things about us. We could talk or not talk and be happy and relaxed.
I was as much at ease with Nick in the silences as I was in our discussions.
Without even trying, we seemed to have that thing other couples talked about.
The ability to have silent conversations.
I’d always thought that stuff was a bunch of bullshit spouted by happy couples just to make the rest of us feel inadequate. Now? Not so much.
Nick was processing hard, swan-on-the-water style—calm on top and paddling frantically beneath the surface.
There was a lot to talk about, and I had a ton of questions, but where to begin.
Waiting for him to meet my eye was a good place to start.
Before that happened, I knew he wouldn’t be ready.
Words came easily to me, entire tomes of them with barely any effort at all.
But Nick needed to get his feelings in some kind of order first. Pull them apart and consider each one carefully.
Only then could he frame them into a sentence.
And so, I waited, enjoying the wine bar’s charming interior.
A hearty fire crackled in the corner with fresh logs waiting on the stone hearth to the side.
Dark wood and plush-cushioned booths sat alongside a selection of small intimate tables, and a beautiful hand-hewn wooden bar spanned the length of one wall.
The ambience was welcoming and lux, a place to enjoy good food and wine when the weather outside was bitterly cold and grey.
For the warmer climes of summer, when temperatures in Marlborough soared into the thirties, the backyard offered a large outdoor patio covered in trellising and planted with grape vines, providing ample shade for those long summer lunches.
When the first of the shared plates of food arrived at our table—grilled octopus with mojo verde sauce—Nick caught my eye and set his glass on the table. “Eat a little then talk?”
“You read my mind.”
He forked a thick tentacle up to his mouth, took a bite, and closed his eyes in pleasure. “Sooo good.” He held what was left of the tentacle toward me and winked. “Open wide, baby.”
The fucker.
Heat raced into my cheeks and I glanced around the other occupied tables. Reassured no one was watching, I rolled my eyes and did as he said, unable to stifle a groan as tender flesh and complex flavours filled my mouth.
“Jesus, that’s good.” I wiped my lips with the serviette before grabbing my own fork. “Cooked to perfection.”
“Right?” Nick dug in for more just as three more small plates arrived. Freshly baked sourdough with fermented butter, shrimp in garlic sauce, and lamb cutlets with romesco.
Once the server had gone, Nick again caught my gaze. “So . . .”
I grinned. “I take it you’re ready to talk then?”
He nodded, and we spent the next forty-five minutes and three more delicious plates of food, discussing everything that had happened that morning and the day before. By the time we were done, the clock had ticked over three thirty and there was only one other table left occupied in the restaurant.
“This whole thing could be nothing more than a storm in a teacup, you understand that, right?” I cautioned, running the last piece of sourdough over my plate to scoop up any remaining dregs. “Just because we don’t like the guy doesn’t mean he genuinely has nefarious plans for your mother.”
Nick blew a frustrated sigh. “Yeah, I know. But you have to admit, it doesn’t look good.
Not telling her about the extra debit card.
Taking her car. Isolating her. Changing her password.
Taking over her finances. Continually telling her how unreliable her memory is.
And I don’t believe for a minute Chloe lost that cell phone.
According to her, she didn’t leave the house after we left. It all feels contrived, all of it.”
“You really think he’s after her money.” That part I got, and I happened to agree. “He’s manipulating her with the end goal of moving her into his home so he can have control over everything.”
Nick shrugged. “Pretty much. I think Austin’s pissed about his father’s will and only getting fifty grand up front.
And I think he sees his future inheritance being eaten up by the cost of residential care.
I think he wants Chloe under his own roof so he can minimise that cost for as long as possible. And I think you see it too.”
I did. But I wanted him to be the first to say it. “That’s no small accusation.”
Nick nodded. “But I think he needs the money for some reason. That money pit of a house and his job just don’t add up. Maybe he stretched himself to the eyeballs to buy it. I won’t know until I can get a check done on his financials.”
I narrowed my eyes, not liking where this was going. “That would be a neat trick considering you don’t work in the financial crimes unit anymore.”
Nick’s gaze slid sideways to the window, and oh boy, I knew that look.
“I have a friend in the department,” he said, still not meeting my gaze.
“Jacko. I think he’d be willing to help, on the quiet.
I did him a solid a few years back. Dredged up some critical information that helped to extract his daughter from a legal minefield after her marriage broke apart. ”
I stared, open-mouthed, across the table. “You realise you’re talking about breaking the law here. No, you’re talking about asking your friend to break the law for you.”
Nick didn’t move, but a deep flush cut across his cheeks and his grey eyes returned to mine. “We’re also talking about my mother’s safety, Mads. Besides, it’s nothing more than I did for Jacko. We’ve bent the law before. When it mattered, right?”
My protest died on my tongue because he was right.
Dammit. Nick needed to get to the bottom of what was going on, both for his sake and Chloe’s.
Would I feel any differently than him if it was Shirley we were talking about?
No, I wouldn’t. “Fine,” I grumbled. “What’s your plan and what do you need me to do? ”
The tension bled from Nick’s body and he reached for my hand. “I fucking love you, you know that, right?”
I huffed. “You damn well better. I don’t break the law for everyone, you know. Ronnie and Clyde to the rescue . . . again.”
Nick laughed, and then we talked through the nuts and bolts of a rough plan.
As well as Jacko, Nick intended to call Samuel to see if his detective brother-in-law could help.
I had big reservations about how well that call was going to go so close to the debacle we’d caused with the Australian police getting Lee and Aaron free.
Samuel had been put through the wringer over the part he played in the affair, and he was still a little touchy on the subject.
While Nick tackled those two calls, I opted to get hold of Jerry, our resident expert on all things ageing, to flesh out our knowledge of Parkinson’s and maybe call my aunt Shirley as well for her opinion. The woman had a sharp mind and was no slouch when it came to investigative work.
Nick fought me for the bill, winning by an embarrassing kiss to the cheek in front of the ma?tre d’, which rattled my brain too much for me to find my card and beat him to it.
Then he bundled me into my heavy winter coat and steered me through the late afternoon drizzle back to the car where we could make our calls in private.
He started the engine to keep us warm and stop the windows from fogging up, then set his phone on speaker so I’d hear exactly what was said with Jacko, something I appreciated more than I could say.
Although I understood Nick’s reasons for what he was doing, breaking the law didn’t sit as comfortably in my black-and-white world as it did in Nick’s infinitely greyer one.
But as I listened to their conversation, it struck me, not for the first time, that Nick had a gift for this kind of thing.
I knew after the Australian adventure, Nick had tossed around the idea of private detective work, but I’d taken that with a pinch of salt.
Now, I wasn’t so sure he’d been joking. It was a good fit for the man.
Along with an astute and reliable bullshit radar, a brain trained in forensic processes, and an eye for following the money trail, Nick could spin a believable story out of thin air and pivot on a dime when the situation called for it.
He was also stubborn and determined, two traits which possibly ranked higher than the rest.