“Because Quinn has been leading the charge to take the merger?”
“That’s what I’m hearing.”
Mason studied the ornate façade of the winery and the elaborate landscaping. “Looks like Colfax spared no expense building this place.”
“It’s his pride and joy,” Beth said. “He loves seeing his name on the labels. He’s really excited about the Reserve.”
“What about the rest of the family? Do they get a charge out of those fancy labels?”
Beth grew thoughtful. “Well, the winery is their ticket into wine-country society. I think they all like that, especially Jillian and the new brood mare—I mean, the new Mrs. Colfax. But they also know that the winery is not the source of the Colfax fortune. It hasn’t even turned a profit yet. A lot of boutique wineries never do.”
“With the exception of Warner, the Colfaxes seem determined to sell the goose that lays the golden eggs. Any idea why?”
“It’s simple enough. My understanding is that the merger would make everyone involved a multimillionaire. It’s none of my business, but personally, I think Warner Colfax should have the deciding vote on whether or not to go through with the merger. Colfax Inc. is his company. He’s the one who built it from scratch.”
“He and Jeffrey Brinker.”
“Well, yes, but Brinker has been gone for years now. Warner is the one who built the company into what it is today.”
“But he turned the day-to-day management over to Cecil Dillon.”
Beth gave him a quizzical look. “Everyone says that hiring an outside CEO is common practice in closely held businesses. Warner wanted to retire and devote himself to his wines.”
“I see.”
Beth glanced at her watch and then pushed her glasses up higher on her nose. “I’d better get back to work. Nice to see you again, Mason. You know, a lot of people around here figured you’d end up working some dead-end job your whole life. They always said your brother was the smart one in the family.”
“Aaron is the smart one in the family.”
“Maybe, but you’ve certainly done all right.” Beth smiled. “I’m glad things worked out for you.”
“You did all right, too.” He angled his head toward the large tank room. “Warner Colfax isn’t the only one building a reputation here. His label wouldn’t mean much without a great winemaker behind it.”
“Thanks. I had a lot of advantages from the start. Warner was willing to go state-of-the-art in everything, from the pressing and fermentation processes to the aging techniques and the bottling.” Beth chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe how many different kinds of corks I tried before I settled on the one that allowed just the right amount of air to reach the wine.”
“Obviously, you are very, very good.”
“I like to think so. My goal is to be the best.” She walked away, lifting a hand in farewell. “See you later.”
Mason continued on up the steps and pushed through the glass doors of the tasting room.
The wine tourists from the limo were lounging against the bar, listening intently as the attractive woman on the other side poured small, measured amounts of a white wine into their glasses.
“A very fresh, dry Riesling with notes of apricot and pear,” she said. She broke off in mid-lecture when she saw Mason walk toward the hallway labeled Offices.
“Can I help you?” she asked quickly.
“I stopped by to see Quinn Colfax,” Mason said. He did not pause. “We’re old acquaintances.”
“I’ll let him know that you’re here,” the woman said, her tone sharpening.
“It’s okay,” Mason said. “Quinn and I go way back.”
He turned the corner and went down a paneled hallway decorated with framed photographs of sunny vineyard landscapes. He stopped outside the room labeled Marketing & Sales. The door was open. Quinn was seated behind the desk, studying a computer screen full of colorful images of wine country. He had a phone to one ear.
“All right, I understand,” he said into the phone. “I’ll deal with it.” Sensing the presence in the doorway, he swiveled around in his chair. He frowned when he saw Mason. “I’ve got to go now.” He ended the connection and eyed Mason warily. “What do you want, Fletcher?”
“I have some questions for you,” Mason said. He closed the office door.
“Is this about Lucy’s shares?” Quinn asked.
“No, those shares are her business. I’m here to talk about Brinker and Kelly and the past.”
“Shit. I was afraid of that. I remembered enough about you from the old days to know that you were not going to give up and go away quietly. Have a seat. I wouldn’t be much of a marketing exec if I didn’t offer you a glass of wine.”
“No, thanks.”
Quinn looked pained. “Fine. Have it your way. Coffee?”
For some reason, people tended to talk more freely when they were sharing a drink or food with another person. Probably something primal, Mason thought. Regardless of the psychology involved, he had learned long ago that it worked.
“Thanks,” he said.
Quinn hit a button on his phone. “Letty, would you please bring my guest some coffee? Tea for me, as usual.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Appreciate it,” Quinn said. He sat back and looked at Mason. “Sit down and tell me what this is all about.”
Mason moved deeper into the room. There was no telltale scent of alcohol in the atmosphere. Either Quinn confined his drinking to after business hours or he used some very good breath mints.
“You heard about Kelly?” Mason said.
“Everyone in town has heard about Kelly by now. The idiot tried to burn down Sara Sheridan’s house and got caught in his own fire. It’s all very sad, but what has it got to do with you being here in my office?”
Mason examined the photographs on the wall. “Nice pictures. Did you take them?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”
“And the ones in the hallway?”
“Yes. What the hell do my photographs have to do with this?”
Mason turned back to him. “Let me tell you where I’m coming from. Unlike most people, I don’t think Kelly torched Sara’s house because he wanted to push Lucy into giving him the listing for the property.”
“Why don’t you buy that angle?” Quinn’s brow creased. “Makes sense to me. Kelly wanted the listing pretty badly, and Lucy was stalling.”