Margot, still a half dozen steps from the entrance, caught herself at the voice. Nora pulled the door open and leaned through, her smile showing lines of gum above her teeth. “Come on in, come on in! I didn’t expect we’d get a visit from you for a few more days yet, so this is very welcome.”

“Thanks.” Margot ducked into the building, warmed by Nora’s enthusiasm and grateful to be with human company again. “I came to thank you for the basket you left. But I wasn’t sure what time you close—”

“Oh, the official hours are ten to four, but we tend to hang around for a bit afterward, as you can see.”

Nora put a hand on Margot’s back and led her toward the counter. The shop was small but modern and clean. The sales counter was kept largely clear except for a point-of-sale system and a row of wineglasses for samples. Ray was behind the counter, shuffling to put a novel away, his sloped shoulders and gentle smile seeming fully at home in the place.

“Take a seat.” Nora was all eagerness, her quick, flitting hand movements reminding Margot of a bird. “How about we get started with some samples, hm? Do you like whites more, or are you a reds girl?”

Kant hadn’t told them about her refusal to drink wine yet, she realized. Margot felt a small pang of gratitude for his discretion as she lifted herself into one of the four stools spaced along the customer side of the counter. “Ah, actually, I might pass. I just came to have a chat, really.”

Nora had already taken a bottle out from beneath the counter. She hesitated, the cap half unscrewed, and glanced toward her husband.

“You go ahead,” Margot added quickly. “You’re here after hours anyway. I’m pretty sure you deserve it.”

“Oh, that’s kind.” Nora flipped two glasses and poured a generous helping into each. Her hand trembled, sending the flow of wine shivering.

Margot turned on her stool to admire the place. The store was largely built out of warm-toned woods. Golden ceiling lights added to the ambience, lending the place a sense of decadence, even if the actual design was closer to modern-rustic. The counter, made out of a single slab of wood, narrowed and widened in small curves as it followed the tree’s natural shape. The shelves behind the counter held what must have been a hundred display bottles, all bearing the same stark, black-and-white design of a dead oak tree on their labels.

On the wall to Margot’s left was a menagerie of framed photos. A few were in color but many were grayscale. Old. Pieces of the property’s past—exactly what she’d been hoping to find here.

“You’d know the winery’s history, I’m guessing?” she asked.