D is for Drunk by Rebecca Cantrell Page A

palms. “I do not deserve such a magnificent animal.”
    Annabelle stroked the horse’s velvety cheeks, and Percy rested her head against Annabelle’s cheek. Annabelle closed her eyes. She looked sad.
    “Looks to me like she’s happy to have you here even without a treat.” Sofia tried to cheer her up.
    “You can touch her.” Annabelle’s hand fluttered toward Sofia. “She likes women. Men, she endures.”
    Sofia held out her palm to let the horse sniff her. Aidan stayed a couple of paces away. Apparently he didn’t want to be endured.
    Annabelle took Sofia’s hand in hers and guided it up to the horse’s neck. The horse felt warm beneath her palm, and Annabelle’s hand was cool on top of hers as they stroked the mare’s neck together. Percy’s intelligent brown eyes looked into hers.
    “She has eyelashes like a supermodel!” Sofia said.
    Percy lowered her head and nuzzled her neck. It tickled.
    “She likes you. It’s unusual for her to take to someone so quickly.” Annabelle was about an inch away, and she still hadn’t let go of Sofia’s hand. Her dark eyes softened. “She senses you are a beautiful person.”
    Was Annabelle hitting on her, or was this a French thing? Every culture has its own sense of personal space. She had learned that in some acting class.
    “Percy is an unusual name for a mare.” Sofia knew she was babbling. “It’s usually a boy’s name.”
    “It is?” Annabelle laughed. “How delicious for her! But her name is not Percy. That is only a pet name, because her real name is so long.”
    Sofia smelled Annabelle’s spicy perfume, mingled with the honest smell of horse.
    “Wine,” said Aidan. “We’re here to taste some wine.”
    Actually, they were there to snoop around, and gaining Annabelle’s trust was a good starting point. Since she couldn’t say that aloud, she petted the horse one more time and stepped away.
    Aidan looked flushed, and Sofia shot him a quizzical look.
    “We host a party here tonight,” Annabelle said. “For friends and neighbors. Would you like to come, Sofia?”
    “We would both like to come,” Aidan said.
    “What time?” Sofia asked.
    “It starts early, at seven with wine and cheese. But it can run until late in the night.” Annabelle’s eyes stayed fixed on hers. “Very late.”
    Aidan cleared his throat. “The wine tasting?”
    “But of course.” Annabelle gave Percy a final kiss, then led them out of the stable.
    Sofia took in a deep breath. The air was different up here, not like the sea air by her trailer or the smoggy air she had to endure in Los Angeles. This air smelled of horse, hay, grapes, and hot stone. It was intoxicating.
    Aidan took her hand, and she looked at him. His curly hair was disheveled by the breeze, and his eyes had that tight look at the corners he got when he was worried.
    “Let’s taste some wine!” she said.
    Annabelle gave them a leisurely tour. It was pretty much the same spiel as Milena Grigoryan had used, except Annabelle talked about the tradition of French wine instead of Armenian and she extolled the virtues of French oak barrels instead of Armenian oak barrels. Apparently no one liked American oak barrels. Annabelle was more effusive than Milena, but maybe that was because she was treating them like customers instead of private investigators.
    Annabelle had poured them their first red when the door opened and a tall, thin man walked in. He had a sharp face, a long nose, and gray hair. He looked like a whippet.
    “Hello,” said Annabelle. “It’s surprising to see you here so early, Marcel.”
    It was after noon, and Sofia could tell from the tone of Annabelle’s voice that Marcel was in trouble. Even Aidan heard it. He gave Marcel a sympathetic look.
    “We have guests?” Marcel asked.
    “I’m Sofia, and this is Aidan.” Sofia stepped forward and offered her hand. Marcel ignored her hand, drew her close, and kissed her on both cheeks. French. Aidan didn’t offer a hand to shake.