by Jo McNally
“Oh, my god, Helen—these shrimp toast things are incredible!” Cecile had filled her plate with snacks from the side table. “And you made your pignoli cookies, too! There goes the diet!”
Ignoring the fact that Cecile, as short and curvy as Helen was, constantly bemoaned her “diet,” Helen nodded. “I knew those were your favorite. The wine is open, everyone. Tonight we’re trying our three-year-old cabernet blend and last year’s chardonnay. The chard is one of the first products of the new stainless steel tanks. The cab blend...” She stopped, facing the wave of grief head on. That’s how it happened these days. One minute she was fine, the next she had tears burning behind her eyes. The cab blend was from Tony’s final harvest. He’d have been so proud of it. She took a deep breath and smiled brightly. “We’ve named it our Legacy blend. We’re entering both wines in the Blessing of the Grapes Festival this year.”
After a bustle of conversation while the wine was poured, they all settled at the table with their paperbacks and tablets.
“The book was...interesting,” Vickie started cautiously. Considering she’d selected the Edith Wharton novel for the group to read, it was far from glowing praise.
“Interesting?” Lena, the club’s second-most-senior member at seventy-three, tossed her Kindle onto the table. “House of Mirth my ass. I trudged through the first chapter, jumped to the last chapter and wasn’t even surprised. Total crap.”
“Now, Lena, we agreed to read the entire book each month.” Cecile shook her head in censure, sending her blond curls bouncing. “But I’ll admit I was disappointed. I thought it was going to be a romance, but it was all just so...sad.”
Rick snorted. “This must be what inspired that Sparks guy to write those tearjerkers. None of the characters had any redeeming qualities, and if they developed any, they died. Honestly, Vick, what were you thinking with this book?”
“I figured we should read some classics, and this was a classic written by a woman who won a Pulitzer, but...” Vickie shrugged, then smoothed her hands over her ice-blue silk blouse. “Yeah, it was pretty hard to read. Sorry.”
Helen sat back in her chair in relief. “I thought it was just me. This story was so melodramatic. When did you decide to go for the classics?”
“We didn’t,” Rick replied. “Victoria was mad because I picked a political book last month, so she decided to torture us with this Gilded Era nonsense.” Rick knew full well it irked Vickie when he used her full name, especially with his emphasis on the middle syllable. Vic-TOR-ia.
“Enough, Rick.” Helen’s voice held enough warning that Rick’s mouth snapped shut. Helen and Rick went way back. Jayla, who’d been quietly observing the group dynamics, seemed to enjoy seeing her steamroller of a neighbor get shut down with two words and a sharp look. “I think we agree the book was depressing. The main character missed far too many opportunities to be happy because she was looking for a rich husband instead of a loving one.”
Cecile nodded. “And the perfect man, the man who loved her through everything, was right there the whole time. Such a tragedy.”
Lena made a huff of disgust. “If he loved her so much, he should have said something before she offed herself.”
“I thought you said you didn’t read the book?” Cecile asked pointedly.
“Bah!” Lena waved her ring-clad fingers. “Who’d want to admit reading this sappy nonsense?”
Helen bit back a laugh. She’d missed this banter. She’d missed her friends.
Cecile turned toward Rick. “Well, it should have been right up Rick’s alley, with all his cynicism about love.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, Cecile, we know you believe in cupids and rainbows and unicorns. But here in the real world, life ain’t like that.” The two were quite a contrast—Rick’s tall, lanky frame, all angles and sharp edges, against Cecile’s fluffy hair, fluffy figure and fluffy outlook on life.
Cecile wasn’t deterred. “It is for me. Charlie and I are a living, breathing romance novel. After forty years of marriage, we still know how to keep things...fresh.” Her cheeks colored, and Helen wondered what all the blushing was about. It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered what Charlie and Cecile were up to behind closed doors. Cecile turned to Lena. “You and Jerome were madly in love, too, weren’t you?”
Lena scoffed. “Yeah, fat load of good it did us. He dropped dead and left me to raise two little girls on my own.” She chuckled humorlessly. “I’m a living, breathing three-hanky movie. Fall in love, then right away someone dies.”
Helen stared into her wine glass, only half listening. She and Tony had over three decades together, and he was still gone much too soon. She flinched when Rick put his hand on her arm.
“I doubt talking about dead husbands is what Helen needs tonight, ladies.” Everyone’s face fell.
“Oh, damn. Sorry, Helen.”
“Yeah, sorry, honey.”
“We all miss Tony, Helen.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice enough to speak. People used to joke that the winery should have been named Happily Ever After because she and Tony had such a fairy-tale life. Every couple had their problems, of course. She and Tony could really do battle back in their day. But now, in hindsight...
“Is that your niece’s car outside with the Illinois plates?” Vickie changed the subject, earning herself a good number of friend points. Helen gladly grabbed for the new topic.
“Yes! Whitney arrived yesterday. She’s taking a sabbatical or something from her job in Chicago. She called me out of the blue last week and asked if she could come for an extended visit, and of course I said yes.” Helen wasn’t sure what was behind Whitney’s decision to come here for the first time in years, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t a social call. Especially when Whitney said she wanted to stay for “a month or two.” She hadn’t visited for more than a few days at a time since growing up. Something had happened in Chicago. And it wasn’t something good.
“She should have joined us!” Cecile said, refilling her wine glass.
Lena laughed. “Yeah, like some twenty-something is going to want to sit around with a bunch of old folks talking about a depressing book.”
“She’s actually in her thirties now,” Helen said. “And I did invite her. But she wanted to get started on a little project I gave her. I asked her to help organize our bookkeeping so it’s easier for me to manage. She’s a CPA for some fancy international firm. The girl is pure ambition.”
Helen tried not to think of the look of horror on Whitney’s face when she’d first seen Tony’s desk that afternoon, piled high with receipts and statements. Boxes filled with more papers were scattered around the room. Around the whole house, really. Helen had let things get away from her after Tony died. None of it had been important at the time, but at least she’d been smart enough not to throw anything away. All Whitney had to do was sort through and organize things. So they’d have some idea if they were making any money, or if they’d ever make enough to pay off the debts Tony and Luke had incurred when they’d remodeled the fermenting barn. Judging from Whitney’s reaction earlier, it might take a little more work than Helen thought.
“Well, if she’s going to be here that long, she needs to get out and meet people, even if it’s a bunch of old farts like us. Right, Jayla? Aren’t you glad I brought you to book club?” Rick nudged his neighbor. Helen felt a stab of sympathy for the quiet, composed woman, thrown into this noisy bunch of friends who all had history with each other.
“She needs to meet people her own age,” Cecile said. “Maybe we can introduce her to a few guys in town.”
Rick frowned. “Why do you automatically assume she’s interested in guys?”
Cecile considered that for a moment, resting her hand on the book in front of her. “I didn’t mean it like that, but you’re right—we should find out if she likes men or women. Then we’ll see if we can giv
e her more luck than the poor girl had in this dreadful book.”
Helen shook her head. “I don’t think Whitney needs any help getting dates. And yes, the last I knew, she dates men, just like you, Rick. She’s tall and beautiful, with thick, dark hair like Tony’s. If Whitney wants a guy, trust me, she’ll get one. Besides, she’s not staying.”
“But wouldn’t you like her to?” Cecile asked. “If she found a good local man, she might stay and keep you company...”
Ah. That’s what this was about. They wanted Whitney to stay to take care of Helen. Sweet, but not happening. She leveled a stern look at Cecile. “She’s got a job in Chicago. She’s not going to give that up to come babysit me. And I wouldn’t want her to. If Whitney wants a social life in Rendezvous Falls, she’ll figure out how to find one.”
“But how?” Cecile ruffled the pages of her book absently. “The college bars are dead this time of year. And the Purple Shamrock is hit or miss these days. Where else is she going to meet a nice man if we don’t help? Sometimes it only takes a little nudge.”
“What about Luke Rutledge?” Lena asked. “He works here. He’s single. I was talking to him the other day...”
Vickie leaned forward and dropped her voice, as if Luke might be standing outside the door listening. “The last thing she needs is to get tangled up with a Rutledge. No offense, Helen.”
Cecile nodded sagely. “You’re probably right. That family...”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Lena slapped the table with her hand. “That boy is as honest as the day is long. He came down and fixed my steps so I won’t break my neck this winter, and now he’s working on my patio.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Helen knew all about the rumors that swirled around the Rutledge family. But Luke had been like a son to her and Tony, and she wasn’t going to tolerate gossip about him. “Whitney and Luke didn’t exactly hit it off when they met yesterday.” She smiled, remembering the sight of them both tugging on the strap of Tony’s old tool bag. “I’m not sure yet if they’ll be friends, much less anything more. Besides, they’re polar opposites. Whitney’s city-girl ambitious, all about climbing the corporate ladder. Luke just wants to make a good bottle of wine and be left alone.” Helen couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him with a woman.
“Well,” Cecile said, “I still think we could come up with some names and maybe set up a few dates for the poor girl while she’s here. All we’ve done lately is argue about the books we’ve picked. Setting Whitney up on a couple of dates would give us something fun to do!”
Rick scoffed. “We’re a book club, not a dating service. Leave the girl alone.” He finished his glass of water—he was designated driver for the evening—and stood. “Come on, matchmakers, it’s time to head home. And speaking of arguments, who picks the next book?”
Cecile’s hand shot into the air. “I do! But I’m stuck between a suspense and a romantic comedy. I’ll email everyone with my decision.”
Lena groaned. “I could use a break from reading about men and women chasing each other around like teenagers.”
Cecile leaned over and gave Lena a quick hug. “Men and women chasing each other is what makes the world go round.” She glanced at Rick. “Or men chasing men, or whatever. But I’ll take your vote under consideration. I promise no one will die in this romance.” She glanced at Helen. “Oh, damn it...sorry.”
* * *
WHITNEY COULDN’T FIND her coffee cup. She’d come into the office with one that morning, but damned if she could find it now. That’s how high the stacks of paper were in Uncle Tony’s small office.
Her uncle hadn’t been compulsively neat, but she remembered him as being at least somewhat organized. This mess? This was all on Helen. Or maybe Luke What’s-His-Name who looked more like a wilderness guide than a bookkeeper. Whitney sighed. He was a jerk, with the half-grown beard and the brown dog, and she was pretty sure he was taking advantage of Helen. But she doubted he was managing the money directly. Still, why hadn’t he jumped in to help?
Helen’s gray tabby cat, Boots, wandered among the piles of paper and mail stacked on the floor. The desk was just the beginning of this disaster. There were bills and bank statements and catalogs and God-knows-what piled everywhere. Boots sat and licked the white front paws that gave him his name, as if he was washing his hands of the mess.
“Yeah, I know how you feel, Bootsy.”
She moved an armful of unopened mail from the chair to the floor and sagged into the seat, which put her at the right height to spot her coffee cup on the desk. She grabbed for it. If Helen couldn’t handle the bills, why hadn’t she hired someone? She glanced at the unopened envelopes she’d shoved to the floor and took a long sip of coffee. This level of disorganization made her twitchy. Was the winery in trouble? They were open only one day a week. Income had to be way down. Things were in disrepair. And if Helen hadn’t been paying the bills...
Her throat tightened. If she was looking to place blame, she didn’t have to look far. If she’d been here after Tony’s death. If she’d come when Helen asked her to at Christmastime. But no, she’d been too focused on her own career to ever imagine this was happening. She could have fixed it...if she’d been here.
“Oh, here you are!” Helen appeared in the doorway, a bright smile on her face. “I wasn’t sure where you went after breakfast. I see Boots is keeping you company.” The cat leaped over a pile of paper to get to his mistress and rub against her leg. “How’s it going in here?”
Eight years of working at KTM Accounting, dealing not only with clueless clients but, more recently, clueless senior partners, had given Whitney the ability to keep a straight face at Helen’s question. But just barely. How’s it going? Was Helen looking at the same room Whitney was?
“Well, Aunt Helen, at this point I’m trying to come up with a plan of attack. It’s a bit...overwhelming.” Yeah, that was the word for everything right now. Her employer had tossed her aside, while her aunt—her rock—had been quietly falling apart.
Helen’s smile trembled for a moment. “I know it looks bad, but I’ll help you...”
“No!” Whitney caught herself. As appalled as she was at the idea of Helen creating any more havoc with the paperwork, the last thing she wanted to do was hurt her feelings. “I mean... I don’t think it would be productive for both of us to try to sort through...this...” She gestured to the buried desk. “I need to find a spot where I’ll have room to spread out, so I can start prioritizing things.”
“If we put the extra leaves in the dining table, that thing’s about a mile long. Would that work?” Her aunt was so desperate to help. Whitney didn’t have the heart to remind her the dining table was covered with newspapers, magazines and junk mail. She’d made that discovery last night while Helen was with her book club. There was hardly a surface in this house that didn’t have a pile of something on it. But, unless Helen had turned into a true hoarder who was emotionally incapable of parting with things, the clutter on the dining table didn’t appear to be business related, so it should be fairly easy to discard. It would give Helen a way to be a part of the process.
“Yes, I think it will. Let’s try to clear it today, and then we’ll put the leaves in.”
“Oh, I can’t today. The tasting room opens in an hour and I still have to get the food ready.” For years, Helen had served snacks and sweets to people who stopped by for wine tasting on Saturdays. Hors d’oeuvres, cheese trays, desserts. Some of it was bagged up for sale, and some was set out on fancy platters for customers to enjoy. Sadly, Whitney hadn’t inherited her aunt’s cooking skills.
It would be far more productive if Whitney sorted through the dining room clutter on her own anyway. “No problem, Helen. I’ll get a start on it by myself.”
“Well, be sure to take a break to come to the tasting room and try some wine later. Our Legacy blend is going to be a huge seller.”
“Um...speaking of sales, where do you keep your sales records? Are they on this computer?” The computer that could barely be seen behind all the papers.
Helen waved her hand. “I don’t have the patience to punch numbers into some computer program. Luke has some reports on the computer out in the store, though. He takes care of the reports to the state and the ATF for alcohol sales, inventory and all that. I’m sure he’d print them out for you.”
Whitney’s fingers tightened on her coffee mug. Luke would definitely be printing them out for her. On second thought, Luke would be giving her access so she could print the reports herself.
“Is Luke the only person who has access to your sales reports?” He could be falsifying records in a dozen different ways. “He’s handling the money and controlling the books? Aunt Helen...”
Helen held her hand up. “Stop right there. Don’t finish that thought. This place wouldn’t have survived without Luke. He hardly gets a paycheck most months, other than free rent on the apartment, and he works nonstop. I know people talk about the Rutledge family, but...”
“Hold on. Free rent on what apartment?”
“In the carriage house, above the tasting room.” Helen reached up and smoothed the collar of her shirt, her fingers fussing with it longer than necessary. “Luke and Tony converted it to a living space four or five years ago when Luke needed a place to stay. With him doing so much work here, it made sense.” She swallowed hard, glancing away for a quick moment. “It wasn’t always free, if that’s what you’re wondering. Luke paid rent until after Tony... Well, he paid rent until things got...difficult...financially. I won’t accept rent from a man I can’t afford to pay.”
Whitney pressed her lips together tightly. She had so many questions. So many doubts about this Luke guy. But this wasn’t the time to scold her aunt for giving a shady character a free place to live. They would definitely be discussing it at some point, though, and Whitney would make sure Luke started paying his rent or moved. Preferably the latter.