She went that way. The winery owner looked to be in his late forties, with gray hair that parted high on his hairline. He looked fit and she wondered if he did some of the vineyard work himself.
“Hello,” he said amiably. “Are you Miss De Luca?”
She extended her hand to him. “Just call me Caprice.”
“And just call me Earl. As I told you in my e-mail, part of our tour takes place outside this area and you can actually see the grapevines. Inside the winery, I can tell you about the wine making process. Right now, in the springtime, we’re bottling so you can actually see that happening.”
“Sounds good,” Caprice assured him. “I’m ready to learn everything about the operation.”
“Are you thinking about opening a winery?” he asked jokingly. “The Susquehanna Valley is an up-and-coming area. More wineries open each year.”
As they walked, he showed her into the tasting room. Again, it was nothing like Rambling Vines. It was a narrow room behind the walkway with a brick floor and stone walls. There was a counter with oyster crackers and a few shelves with simple wine glasses lined up in a row.
“A tasting first?” he asked.
“Sure.”
“What’s your pleasure? Semi-dry, dry, semi-sweet, sweet?”
“Actually, I love fruit wines. I know they’re more for dessert than drinking with a meal, but I prefer the lower alcohol content.”
“Fruit wines are great for friendly visits too. We call them sipping wines. But, as you said, they’re also good with chocolate desserts and cheesecake. You might think of them as aperitifs too. Then again, it tends to depend on how heavy the flavor is.”
“Tell me about your fruit wines.”
“I want you to keep in mind that our fruit wines are actually fruit wines. They are not grape wines with extract.”
“Is this a specialty for you?”
“Few wineries put the care and expertise into their fruit wines that we do,” he said with a most serious expression.
She knew a sales pitch when she heard one, but on the other hand, maybe he was being honest about it.
“One thing I remember about my grandfather,” Caprice told him, “was that he liked black raspberry wine. He would pour it over vanilla ice cream and even fruits.”
Earl chuckled. “Do you have an Italian background?”
“I do,” she said with a smile. “Both sides.”
He nodded. “Does your grandfather ever make wine?”
“My Nana tells stories about the few years that he tried. I’m not sure how successful he was.”
“It’s an art form in some ways, although science principles have to be applied.”
He pulled a bottle of black raspberry wine from under the counter. Using a corkscrew, he opened it. “Would you like this in a cordial glass or should I spoon it over ice chips?”
“A cordial glass would be fine.”
After Earl set the glass in front of her, she picked it up and swirled it a little. Then she took in the aroma. Sweet raspberries. As she took a sip, she savored it. What she liked most about black raspberry, even the one she remembered from way back when, was that it was satiny in flavor.
“Mmmm,” she said. “I don’t think we’ll find one to beat this.”
Again, Earl laughed. “This is definitely our sweet wine. Even our apple wine is semi-sweet. Would you like to try that? We also have a spiced apple that’s particularly popular in the fall.”
“I’d be glad to try the apple wine.”
“Cordial again?”
She nodded.
He poured it and set it in front of her. She swirled it, smelled it, and took a taste. She waved her hand back and forth. “It’s good. But as you said, it’s a semi-sweet. I’d like two bottles of the black raspberry, please.”
“You don’t want to try anything else?”
“Not today. I’m going to keep one and give one to my brother. He likes to tour all the different wineries.”
“As I said, there are enough of us in the area now that it would be easy to do a wine tour in a day.”
“I’m having my wedding reception at Rambling Vines Winery.”
Earl narrowed his brown eyes. “Did you come to compare?”
“Not exactly. I really did want to taste your fruit wines and see your winery. But I’m also trying to help solve Travis Dodd’s murder.”
He studied her for a few moments, then he snapped his fingers. “Caprice De Luca. I thought that name sounded familiar. You’ve been written up in the local papers. Something about helping the police and finding homes for animals.”
“I’ve done both,” she admitted.
“And why aren’t you buying Rambling Vines’ wines?”
Her purpose for being here was simple. “Because I want to know if what I’ve heard about the business is true.”
He frowned. “What have you heard?”
“You said more wineries are opening up in this area.”
“Throughout the state, really.”
She nodded. “I imagine you’re all competing for the same customers.”
“We are.”
“Can you tell me if the rivalries are friendly?”
Now Earl poured himself a cordial of the apple wine. He raised his glass and she raised hers and they clinked. “You want the dirt, not the PR we give everybody else, right?”
“Murder usually has something to do with dirt.”
After he studied her for a few moments, he revealed, “For the most part the rivalries are friendly. We all want to do well. As you said, we’re competing for the same customers across the state. In our local areas, customers can shift from one winery to another. For instance, some of us have wine subscription services. Many wineries call them clubs.”
“Can you explain them?”
“Sure. We have e-mail lists, of course, to go out to our customers for events, new wines, specials. That’s just like any other business does these days. But the clubs have definitely added revenue. They run for a year. Some clubs are miscellaneous. That means each quarter you would receive three bottles of wine to be selected by the winery. You might join the fruit club. Each quarter you would receive however many bottles of wine that you choose for that year. Then there’s a specials club. Each month we run a special on a different wine. So every quarter you would receive the three bottles that ran as a special in that quarter. Do you see what I mean?”
“I do. Because customers have signed up for a year, I imagine they receive a discount for signing up for the whole year and paying at the start of the year. That way, you have customers committed to buying your wines.”
“You are a business woman. That’s exactly how it works. Those who pay quarter by quarter don’t get a discount. First quarter payment is up front, of course.”
“Of course. Gossip runs around the wine business as much as any other business, I imagine.”
Earl took another sip of wine, set the glass down with a thump, and asked, “So what have you heard about Black Horse Winery?”
“I heard that Travis Dodd paid off a reviewer so his new wine got a good review and your new wine received a bad review.”
“That’s not a rumor. That’s true.”
“Can you prove it?”
“You aren’t a professional undercover cop, are you?”
“No way. My sister Nikki is dating a detective. I give him information, but he rarely gives me any.”
Earl set his elbow on the counter. “All right. Consider this off the record.”
“I don’t know if I can do that if it has something to do with Travis’s murder.”
“I doubt that it does. Let’s just say I have a friend who’s very good with a computer. He managed to get a copy of the reviewer’s e-mails. He has a copy of the message that says Travis would pay the guy five hundred dollars to give a bad review to Black Horse Winery.”
Wow! The tech age at work. “Did the review affect business?”
“Of course, it did. As I
said, each area has its customers. If they don’t buy my new wine, they might buy the wine from Rambling Vines or Adams County or anywhere else.”
“How badly did this affect you?”
“Not nearly as much as it would have affected Dodd. I don’t overspend like he did.”
Her instincts perked up. “Overspend?”
“Just look at that events building where you’re probably having your reception. Imagine what that cost, not to mention redecorating, redoing the tasting room, putting in gardens. Above all, the money he spent on the promotion.”
“Promotion other than subscription lists?”
“Exactly. If somebody said they could sell his wines for him, he paid. That’s so foolish. Research has to go into it. It’s necessary to find out from other wineries and winemakers if ads at those particular venues pay off. It does no good to place an ad and then only break even.”
“I can see that would be true.”
Earl straightened, ready to wrap up their conversation. “So you only want the two bottles of black raspberry?”
“That would be great for now. But I’ll tell my brother he should stop in. I’m sure he will.”
“Do you want the tour or did you learn enough?”
“I’d love a tour of the vineyards. It’s a beautiful day and I’d like to learn about your grapes.”
He cut a glance to her. “Even though you like black raspberries better?”
She laughed. Then she grew serious. Earl Hoff could be a personable guy. However, could he have committed murder? That was hard to say. After her tour of the vineyard, maybe it was time to meet with Brett and just see how far his investigation had progressed. She could lay out her suspect list. He might not tell her anything, but his attitude and his expression sometimes gave her hints.
One good hint might be all she needed.
* * *
Caprice met Brett at the Sunflower Diner that afternoon. He was already sitting in a booth in the back when she arrived, staring into his cup of coffee. There was an empty dish in front of him that Caprice suspected had held a slice of cherry pie. A dab of filling dotted the side of the dish. At one time, Grant had thought Brett was interested in her. But whatever had been true back then, now Brett only had eyes for her sister.
A waitress had followed Caprice to the table. Caprice smiled and said, “What he had.”
As the waitress scurried away, Brett reminded Caprice, “I don’t have a lot of time. I’m going over witness statements and bank records.”
“Travis’s bank records?”
Brett kept his mouth closed tight.
“Right. I’m not supposed to ask that. Will you be bringing in more people who knew Travis for questioning?”
He looked as if he thought about that question before answering. “Yes, and some we’ll be bringing in for a second or third time.”
“You mean Michelle?”
Again, he kept his mouth closed.
“You know the phrase tight-lipped doesn’t do itself justice when it’s applied to you.”
This time he gave her a shrug.
“You’re taunting me on purpose, aren’t you?” she demanded to know.
His mouth twitched in a bit of a smile. “How am I doing?”
She shook her head. “Men.”
“You’re putting Grant in my category?”
“No, I’m putting Vince in your category.”
“Oh, no,” Brett said, holding his hand up in front of her like a stop sign. “I’m not getting mixed up in that. He knows he should cut his ties with Michelle Dodd, but I imagine you’ve told him that more than once. Or haven’t you?” Brett asked with a raised brow.
“Of course, I have. He’s not doing his relationship with Roz any favors. She’s staying with me right now.”
Brett couldn’t keep a look of surprise from crossing his face. “Nikki didn’t tell me that.”
“You don’t tell her everything, so I’m sure once in a while she doesn’t tell you everything.”
He scowled. “Before you ask, we’re getting along fine.”
“Really? Even through this murder investigation?”
His eyes narrowed. “Have you spoken to her?”
“No,” Caprice said honestly. “If she wants to talk about you, she’ll do it on her own terms. But I can bug you. Are you communicating with her through this?”
He shook his head. “You never quit.”
“Not when I have my sister’s back.”
His stoic expression gentled. “I know you do. We really are fine. She knows I can’t predict when I’ll get home when I’m working a murder, and she’s busy with spring engagement parties and weddings. Mostly we’re texting, but I’m going to meet her for coffee at the Koffee Klatch at seven a.m. tomorrow morning. Both of us can at least carve out a half hour for each other.”
The waitress brought Caprice her order. Caprice added cream and sugar to her coffee. “I hope you’ll be finished with this murder investigation before my wedding. I know that sounds selfish but I don’t want you to have to worry about that too.”
“Too?” He actually laughed. “Do you think it’s going to tax me to be a groomsman?”
Caprice smiled back. “No, but it will take up a chunk of your time.”
He nodded. “So tell me what information you have for me that maybe I didn’t find out on my own.”
Caprice considered everything she’d learned. “Did you know that Travis’s mother is now staying at the house with Jarrett and Michelle?”
“Yes, I did know that.”
“Did you know why she and William Dodd divorced?”
Brett shrugged. “I’ve heard rumors. I was going to ask that of her myself if I bring her in for questioning.”
“If?”
“She wasn’t in Kismet when the murder happened. We checked her whereabouts and she was still in New Hampshire. We have verified proof of that. But I think she could provide us with welcome history.”
“Isaac Hobbs told me some of that history,” Caprice said.
Brett took a few swallows of his coffee. “Fill me in.”
So she did, relating exactly what Isaac had told her.
He looked thoughtful. “So she and Jarrett have been in constant communication?”
“It seems that way. Travis and his father cut her loose but Jarrett didn’t. My guess is that Jarrett would have rather lived with her but William wouldn’t let him.”
Rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, Brett said, “From what I understand, William was a hard man even with Travis.”
“Maybe that’s why Travis wanted to prove he could make the winery a success on his own.”
Brett leaned forward, all of his attention focused on her. “What do you mean?”
For the next few minutes she told him about her visit to Black Horse Winery and what Earl Hoff had told her about Travis.
“Essentially what Mr. Hoff told you was that Travis Dodd didn’t know how to spend his business money in an expedient way, that he was wasting it, and that’s why the winery is in tough shape now.”
“That seemed to be the gist of it. I mean, if Travis caused Earl Hoff’s sales to decline, and he found himself in a not-so-solid situation, I suppose Earl would have been angry enough to commit murder. It’s hard to tell how much rage people keep inside.”
“Yes, it is,” Brett agreed. “It’s true a violent past can predict a violent future. But many times the murder is committed by the person you’d least expect.”
She’d also found that to be true.
Checking his watch, Brett took out bills to pay for their coffee, pie, and a tip.
“I’ll take care of it,” Caprice said. “I asked you here.”
“Nope. I still believe that the man does the paying.”
“Nikki hasn’t torn down your misconceptions about that yet?”
“We’ve agreed to disagree on that one, so she humors me.”
After Brett stood, he leaned down to Caprice, his hands on the table. “I
can’t tell you much but I can tell you this. We’re looking at other suspects besides Michelle.”
“Does Vince know that?”
Brett just gave her one of his I-don’t-know shrugs. Still leaning toward her, he said, “I want you to promise me if you see a hint of trouble, you’ll call me immediately.”
“I’m not looking for trouble.”
“No, you’re doing worse than that. You’re looking for murder suspects. I know I can’t stop you, not unless I want to toss you into jail. I really don’t want to do that because you do gather good information from time to time. But I want to keep you safe and I know Grant does too. If you get tempted to get into trouble, just remember, you have a wedding date on May 12. “
“Believe me, I’m not going to forget.”
Brett straightened, gave her an encouraging smile, and then added like a big brother, “Maybe once you’re married, you won’t have enough time to interfere in our investigations.”
Before she could comment, he left the diner.
* * *
Sitting in Fred and Agnes’s living room the next morning, Caprice couldn’t keep the smile from her face. The Schnoodle who they’d named Grayson didn’t leave Agnes’s side. When she dropped her kerchief on the floor, the Schnoodle had whisked it up in his jaws and set it in her lap. They were obviously a good match.
Agnes lifted her cup of coffee and took a sip. She glanced at Fred. “Good coffee, honey.”
“It’s decaffeinated like your doctor ordered,” Fred told her.
“But with a bit of real cream.”
“You could use about twenty pounds.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “If you keep buying pastries for breakfast, I’ll certainly gain them.”
“So you’re feeling stronger?” Caprice asked Agnes.
“I am. I’ve even gone for walks with Grayson. We don’t walk on the road, of course, just around the yard. I use my walker and he stays right by my side. I already love him to death.”
“He’s not bad,” Fred grumbled.
This time Caprice hid her smile. “I’m glad it’s working out.”
“More than working out,” Agnes said. “Fred doesn’t feel so guilty when he leaves me now to go on errands. I never feel lonely.”
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