What Doesn't Kill Her (Cape Charade #2)(99)

“I know what the code is. Stay here and keep watch.” He sprinted around the house to avoid the mob in the kitchen, slipped in the utility room and up the stairs to Kellen’s room and was back in less than three minutes, holding the bag and with a pistol tucked into his pocket. He found his mother telling Bisnonna Benedetta to return to the house. “Did you see anything?”

“No. The poor dear gets confused and—Max, why don’t we tell everyone to search for Rae?”

“Because this person, whoever he is, is a killer. What good does it do us to find Rae and find her dead and the guests with her?”

Verona staggered. “A mass shooting.”

Max caught her by the shoulders and steadied her. “Kellen said that I knew who had taken Rae?”

“It’s Nils Brooks, right?”

“No. Not him. Do you have your scheduler on you?”

“Of course. Why? Who...?”

In a hard certain voice, Max asked, “Where’s Arthur Waldberg supposed to be right now?”

“Arthur?” Verona paused in the act of retrieving her phone from her belt. “You think it’s Arthur, too?”

“I’ll find out fast enough. Where is he supposed to be?”

“Um.” Verona pulled up the schedule on her phone. “He’s in the wine cellar bringing up the first round of wines for the reception.”

“Wouldn’t the cellar be a good place to hide Rae?” Max went out the screen door. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find something out.”

“I’m coming, too.” Verona ran after him.

He didn’t wait. He touched the small revolver in his pocket, checked to make sure the safety was still latched. If he found Arthur fast enough, he’d stop the entire plot dead in its tracks. He came at the wine cellar from the back door, close to the shrubs where Kellen liked to lurk. He used his key, opened it quietly. When his mother would have gone in ahead of him, he held her back. He stepped into the cellar and listened.

From deep in the red wines, he heard the clink of bottles being moved. He pulled the revolver.

Verona nodded in approval.

Wow, Mom. With a gesture, he held her in place and moved silently toward the sound. He rounded the corner into the row where they kept the good cabernets and found Arthur removing the bottles, wiping them clean and placing them in a twelve-pack box. Even in this dusty place, Arthur looked immaculate, his suit and tie fitting for the festive occasion. Max pointed the pistol. “Arthur?”

Arthur glanced up and saw Max and the gun. His eyes widened, and he lifted his hands over his head. He still held one of the 2004 vintage bottles. “Sir?”

“Where’s my daughter?”

“Rae?” Arthur looked from side to side. “Is she lost?”

“She’s been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?” Arthur faked confusion well. “Sir, I’d like to put the bottle down.” He moved very slowly, slid the bottle into its slot and just as slowly stood straight. “I don’t know where Rae is. Are you sure—?”

“Very sure. Tell me, Arthur, how much of a fool have I been? Who are you really?”

“I...I’m Arthur Waldberg...” But his gaze fell away.

Max moved with the speed of the linebacker he had been. He grabbed Arthur by the front of his starched white shirt, pulled him up on his toes and said, “Try again, asshole.”

With impeccable dignity, Arthur said, “I am who I say I am, sir. You know, you’ve seen my efficiency in directing staff and I do know my wines.”

“Where did you learn?”

Arthur took a big breath. “In prison.”

“Arthur!” Verona had arrived, and she was appalled.

Max released him. Now they were getting somewhere.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Di Luca. I didn’t want to lie.” Arthur straightened his shirt and tie. “In my job, I had previously worked alone, but while in prison, I found myself working in... The prison was in Texas. There are a lot of start-up wineries in Texas. Many of the wines are marginal, but as Mr. Di Luca has discovered, I have a good nose. The warden also discovered that, and by the time my term was over, I was in charge of the prison winery, creating wines and managing the staff.”

“That’s absurd,” Max said.

“You’d think. But the warden made a fortune off Barbed Wire Wines.” Arthur smiled almost imperceptibly. “I trust you’ve heard of them?”

Max had, and he stared at Arthur in disbelief.

“What were you in for?” Verona knew the right question to ask.

“I traveled around the world, masquerading as a gentleman of leisure, as an English lord, as old and noble Russian aristocracy. They welcomed me. They loved me.” Arthur looked sideways at Verona. “I romanced the women and stole the family heirlooms. If I had chosen to steal from you, you would have never known who had taken your finest jewels. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I am now as honest as a man can be.”

“That’s not saying much,” Verona said tartly.

“I collected a good staff at the prison winery, and I knew if I could bring them together in one place, we could be the best. We could own the world of wines.” Arthur’s voice was clear and cold; he stated his past and his wishes for the future without knowing how Max and Verona would react. “I’d like to own the world of wines from this very estate.”