The Name of the Rosé

by Christine E. Blum

  It’s not every day you see someone risk their life for a grapefruit that can easily be purchased a mile away at Whole Foods.

  “There’s a ladder over by the fence. Can you bring it here and open it?”

  “Sean?”

  “On it!” The boy went on his mission like an exemplary first responder.

  When at last I was on terra firma, I took a breath and surveyed the damage. I had some scrapes on my forearm and a skinned shin. And an intact grapefruit.

  “Thank you, guys, so much, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been walking by. Bardot is a wonderful dog, but I’ve never been able to get her to set up a ladder for me. She always grumbles something about opposable thumbs.”

  The kids giggled.

  “Did you see that plane? It nearly hit me!”

  “I’ve seen them lose altitude on their approach to the airport for landing, but never that low,” Mom said, nodding to her offspring as if this was a teachable moment. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can go get the car and drive you home.”

  “Thank you, that’s sweet. But no motor vehicle is going to relieve what hurts the most right now.” I too can play teacher, and the kids were hoping I’d reveal some huge gouge on my body spewing entrails.

  “My pride.” I laughed. “This ranks right up there as one of my silliest ideas.”

  Mom gave me an appreciative smile and class was dismissed. As they continued their walk, I heard Sean say, “That was pretty dumb.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Bardot and I were on our way to the Santa Monica Mountains. The Pacific Coast Highway is more of a scenic coastal throwback road than it is an asphalt speedway. It hugs the curves and bends of the hills on one side and the shoreline on the other. Along the way, you’ll pass real estate offices, fresh seafood shacks where you dine al fresco on picnic tables and about every mile a place where you can rent kayaks, surfboards and bikes. And, because we are heading through Malibu, there are also the prerequisite yoga studios, cashmere retailers and tattoo removal services. Once Bardot got her bearings and a whiff of briny critters, she was beside herself with excitement. Her squeals and barks ebbed and flowed like the sounds a kid makes on a roller coaster.

  “You know where you’re going, don’t you?” I peeked at her behind the safety gate of my SUV.

  That solicited a high-pitched yip that made my ears ring like a dinner bell. My cell phone rang, and I engaged the Bluetooth on my dash. Speak of the devil.

  “Hi honey, we’re about ten minutes out.”

  “Wonderful,” Jack said. “I’ve got one more set of drills to run and then we can get lunch somewhere down at the beach.”

  “We’re bringing lunch and you’ll never believe what I went through to get it.”

  “I’m afraid to ask . . .”

  “You don’t have to. There’ll be visual cues.”

  “Okay, knowing you, now I’m really curious.”

  We turned off PCH and started climbing a canyon road up the mountain. This was one of the first things that drew me to California, the fact that you could hike steep terrain in the morning and cool off in the ocean in the afternoon. And still be home in time for cocktail hour. Or Wine Club.

  My amber-eyed boo, Jack, lives up to his name. He’s an excellent nonaggressive/reward motivation dog trainer, although since I’ve known him, cats, llamas and a barn owl have also benefitted from his tutelage. He’s a member of CARA, the Canine Rescue Association that uses canine/handler teams to perform search-and-rescue missions saving people in all kinds of bad situations. He’s on call 24/7 and is also one of the lead instructors for training new teams. And if those trades weren’t enough, Jack is also a pilot specializing in helicopters and works with his friend Mark from the DEA from time to time, using dogs to help them make drug busts. Knowing all this and taking in his six-four frame, you would think this guy spends his free time watching monster trucks and drinking hard lemonade. Nothing could be further from the truth. His dad died tragically when he was a boy and he was raised by a group of women who nurtured his sensitive and artistic side.

  Too good to be true?

  He’s the real deal, and I’m the one with the flaws of a G/SI1 diamond. But I’m working on it; he’s a keeper and I just need to get there.

  The road narrowed and changed to dirt as we approached the base level where the training and hikes start out. The hillsides were lush green from all the rain we had in January, and the scent in the air had changed from warm saline to a rich coniferous breeze. We parked at the far end of the clearing to give a wide berth to the training vehicles. I wasn’t exactly sure what Jack had in mind today, but Bardot and I have a reputation for totally disrupting his exercises with unintended, profoundly embarrassing stunts. Not always well received in a situation where people and dogs are learning to save lives.

  “Bardot, we are going to behave like wallpaper today and completely fade into the forest background. We will do nothing to make people notice us, laugh at us or hate us more than they already do. Capisce?”

  She had sat and was looking at me intently, for Jack’s benefit, no doubt. To him, she was the poster girl for doggy obedience. For me, not so much. We walked over to the periphery of the circle of teams that had formed around Jack. He noticed and waved to us, prompting Bardot to immediately drop into a down stay.

  “Gooood girl,” he rewarded her.

  “Nobody likes a brownnoser,” I whispered to her before realizing how ludicrous a statement that was to make to a dog.

  “Today is about specialized scent training,” Jack told the group. “It isn’t enough for your dog to track just any item with a human scent; you need to focus on the victim that needs rescuing. Most times this will happen in places where lots of people have walked or hiked over the years and inadvertently dropped things. If we are lucky enough to have an item of clothing, say with the victim’s odor on it, we’ll save a lot of time and avoid dead ends.”

  People—okay, the women—looked at Jack with a combination of admiration and lust. His warm, amber, almond-shaped eyes drew you in, and his neatly trimmed beard and shaved head completed the gentle giant look.

  Better check and repair my makeup; nothing in life is a sure thing.

  “For today’s exercise, I have had my team plant some trigger items around a half-mile perimeter of the forest entrance. You’ll see flag markers where the scene ends. There are some twenty bits of clothing, maps, water bottles and food items out there, ten of which have my scent on them. I’m going to pass around pieces of cloth that I have handled for you to use to track. If your dog starts to get distracted or confused, use this to refocus. The goal is to locate one of the items I’ve touched and bring it back here. Any questions?”

  All the women raised their hands, of course. They had the kind of know-it-all, show-off questions that always began with Isn’t it true that . . .

  I was about to make a snide comment to Bardot when I noticed she was gone.

  I must have dropped her leash while I was applying a shimmering coat of Summer Breeze whipped matte lipstick. I knew I needed to find her before the rescue teams descended, so while Jack was fielding offers I slipped into the forest.

  “Bardot?” I softly whispered. I saw a flash of yellow race past me that was either my dog or a doe trying to escape a particularly concupiscent buck.

  What’s the difference between beer nuts and deer nuts? Beer nuts are over five dollars and deer nuts are just under a buck.

  I saw branches move and heard rustling coming from about three o’clock from my position and headed in that direction.

  “Bardot! Come!”

  Nothing.

  “I’m holding a perfectly seasoned, medium-rare filet mignon in my hands smothered in black truffle butter . . .”

  That did the trick; I saw her head pop up. I have always marveled at her ability to hold five tennis balls in her mouth at once. Right now, she must have almost twice as many items locked between her canine canines.
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br />   “Get over here right now!”

  She turned tail and took off with me in pursuit. But I couldn’t match her speed or ability to jump over or duck under tree branches. I lost sight of her just before doing a face-plant into a perfectly placed mud puddle. Realizing my predicament and what I must look like, I decided to lay low until, say, the Fourth of July, when I hoped people would be otherwise distracted.

  “Halsey? You in there, babe?”

  I tried to become one of those rain forest denizens who can morph into their environment with pigmentation manipulation.

  “I see you, Halsey. Are you hurt?”

  My cover, or lack thereof, was blown, and I had no choice.

  “Coming.”

  I did what I could with my hair and lipstick, but I knew the result would still be disconcerting unless you were an überfan of Naked and Afraid.

  When I emerged into the clearing, I was dismayed to see that the rescue teams had not yet been released to the hunt and still stood in a love circle around Jack. Beside him sat Bardot, and I counted eight items she’d laid at his feet.

  “I’m glad I stopped her before she ruined the entire exercise. Jack, shouldn’t they all be on their way to find the triggers?”

  I tried to sound cheery and nonchalant. Jack looked at me and rubbed his chin. I smiled at him and he repeated the action, this time more deliberately. I looked at the group to see if they were doing the same, thinking this was perhaps a new hand signal for the dogs. They hadn’t moved. When Jack repeated the movement a third time, I slowly raised my hand to my chin. What came off into my palm was a brown, sticky clump of something surrounded by pine needles and wood chips. I didn’t need to get my nose any closer to my hand to pick up its foul odor.

  “What Bardot picked up in there can’t possibly be all the ones with your scent on them, can they?” I gave him a cocked-headed, incredulous look.

  He nodded back to me that they were.

  “That’s just crazy. I’ll go back to my car now, clean up a little. Sorry.”

  I shrunk away and heard Jack tell Bardot to follow me.

  “Bardot, if I didn’t know that English is your first language, I could accept that you had trouble understanding me when I said we were to remain inconspicuous today. But you heard me and Jack’s instructions to the group and just decided to steal the show, didn’t you?”

  I couldn’t disguise my pride and she knew it. We reached the car and I gave her water and did triage on myself. I opened the back and Bardot hopped up, happy and ready for a nap. I sat down beside her to wallow in shame for today’s buffoonery.

  “Are we having a tailgate party? Cool!” Jack said, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

  I pulled away. “Are you crazy? You could catch swine flu or mad deer disease from me!”

  He laughed. “It looks like you did a pretty good job of washing your face.”

  “Yeah, well, I also did a pretty good job of ruining your training session and wasting those volunteers’ time.”

  “I think that honor goes to Bardot. Did you tell her to go find those items?”

  “No, of course not. She decided to do that all on her own.”

  “Well, at least one of you listens to me. Hey, Bardot raised the bar for those teams, and I’ll bet they’ll be practicing every day until our next session. Did you get that scrape on your arm from chasing after her in the woods?”

  I looked at the two-inch-wide, arrow-shaped abrasion across my upper arm that in the military would mean I was a corporal.

  “No, I got this falling down a tree when an airplane buzzed by above my head.”

  “Fine, don’t tell me.”

  “I just did!” I was getting cranky.

  “Why don’t we spread the blanket down on the grass and you can tell me all about it over lunch?” Jack said, unloading the goodies from my car.

  We dined on chicken salad with arugula and a grapefruit vinaigrette on crusty pieces of baguette and had cold poached apricots and Stilton for dessert. We each had a glass of Hanna Winery Sauvignon Blanc that calmed me down enough to tell my tree story without yelling or crying.

  “Geez, I don’t suppose you got the tail numbers?”

  “Jack, I was clinging to a branch for dear life. Does this thing happen often? Do planes need to get that low before landing at the airport?”

  “No way, never. There are strict rules about the approach, and even if someone ignored them, they wouldn’t be flying low over that location south of the runway.”

  “You think this was done on purpose?” My voice had gone up an octave.

  “I know it sounds crazy. I mean, who would do such a thing?”

  It was time to fill Jack in on last night’s dead-body discovery and Charlie’s events leading up to the hit. This time he shook his head, not because he was incredulous but because I had gotten myself into another possible murder investigation.

  “I don’t know this mechanic Rusty personally,” Jack said. “Probably because rescues always seem to happen after hours and we have our own crew to maintain the aircraft. But I know his reputation.”

  “Which is?”

  “He’s a hothead. People never know what will set him off.”

  “That’s exactly what Britt said. She works at Spitfire.”

  “Okay, I’ll make some calls, find out which plane he usually takes out and get a photo of it. If you saw it again, do you think you could identify it?”

  “It was yellow. Not corn yellow or even lemon yellow. It was brighter, almost a glowing yellow. Like pee after you’ve taken too many B vitamins.”

  TMI?

  Jack didn’t seem to think so.

  “Got it. Do you think you could stay under the radar for the next few days until I get some answers? Staying indoors would be ideal.”

  I gave him a wide-eyed stare that telegraphed, um, no.

  “I figured. Please try to be safe, Halsey. I’d like you to be healthy and happy for our date on Saturday.”

  “Why? What do you have in mind?”

  “You’ll have to wait and see.” He grinned.

  “In other words, it’s a surprise?”

  He got a twinkle in his amber eyes.

  I hate surprises.

  CHAPTER 5

  An impromptu Wine Club was called for the next day at Sally’s to plan a course of action. When I walked onto her back patio with my bumps and bruises, it created quite a stir, so even before the first cork was pulled, I had told my dive bomber story.

  Everyone was shocked.

  I was excited to see two faces among the regulars, Jimmy and Britt. The patio around Sally’s pool is an oasis of running fountains, fruit-bearing trees and African art. Everywhere you look, you find comfortable wicker chairs and sofas to lounge on. There’s an ornate dream catcher that sways in the wind from the branch of an orchid tree. Bright, primary-colored umbrellas that adjust to the moving sun provide just the right amount of shade.

  “I thought today I’d share some of my favorite Argentine, Don Miguel Gascón Malbec. Look for dark fruit flavors, chocolate and a hint of mocha. And a long, velvety finish,” Sally announced, passing several bottles around to the group. “Let’s celebrate none of us being in jail today!”

  I saw the confused look on Britt’s face and a few of the others and filled them in on our grisly discovery at the airport.

  “Oh my lord, Jonas was such a sweet boy. I can’t believe it. That explains why I didn’t see him for lunch yesterday. He always comes in and orders a BLT on white. And to see me. He has—had—a bit of a crush on me. I discouraged it, but I must admit it was cute.” Britt took a deep breath into her diaphragm and I noticed her eyes getting moist.

  “I’m surprised it wasn’t the talk of Spitfire Grill yesterday,” Peggy said. “I know how fast news travels at that airport. Charlie’s been inundated with calls and visitors from fellow pilots.”

  Peggy made a good point, and I looked to Britt for a response. It took her a few seconds.

  “We wer
e down a server yesterday and the hot weather brought out the noon crowd in droves. I barely had time to think, orders were piling up in the kitchen to go out. I never even came up for air until about three-thirty.”

  Yet she had time to notice Jonas wasn’t there.

  Britt drew a sympathetic nod from Aimee, who understood all too well the demands of being in the food service business.

  “Poor thing, your feet must be killing you. Have some more wine. You may want to dangle your legs in the spa to loosen those muscles,” Sally offered.

  “I’m feeling better already, and I have two days off to rest up.” Britt raised her glass in a toast.

  “Jimmy, I’m so happy to see you home safe and sound,” I said. “Can you fill us in on your field trip to police headquarters?”

  “Not much to tell and it all happened so fast.” Jimmy took a swig from the beer he’d been nursing. The deep circles under his eyes betrayed his nonchalant recounting of events. I could tell this had really rattled him.

  “Give the girls the complete rundown, Jimmy. We’ve been known to solve a crime or two, and just because they released you doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.” I noticed Sally sported the same dark circles.

  “Right. It was a short drive to the station and the officers apologized for having to cuff me but did it all the same. Not the first time this has happened to me for doing nothing wrong, but you never get used to the humiliation and shame. And the fear that you’re completely under someone else’s control.”

  “I was put in a holding cell at the police station last year for a misunderstanding. I know that helpless feeling,” I commiserated.

  “They sat me in a room with one table, cameras on the ceiling and a wall with a mirror for unseen observers. Just like in the TV shows. But because they’re all filmed here I guess that makes sense.”

  “There’s that one they shoot in Hawaii, what’s it called?” Aimee asked.

  “Could it be Hawaii Five-0?” Peggy was also a fan of sarcasm.

  “Please go on, Jimmy. I’ve done my share of crime reporting for the Times and I’ll know if they violated any of your rights,” Mary Ann assured him.