The Name of the Rosé

by Christine E. Blum

  The front door swung open and Jack stepped in.

  “Here, sweetie, have some coffee and sit down. I made it just the way you like it,” Mary Ann soothed to Jeb.

  “Do you think Jonas was planning on killing Rusty, Jeb?”

  He took a sip of his coffee and thought for a moment.

  “I don’t know that I had that much clarity, Halsey. I’d been so thrown by the argument. I’d never seen that side of Jonas. He was fierce.”

  “So, what did you do next, Jeb?” This time, it was Augie’s turn to stand.

  “I decided to go and sit in my car for a while and watch the planes take off and land. I must have drifted off into a deep sleep, because when I woke up it was dark outside.”

  “Jeb, think carefully. Do you remember much of what happened next?” I wanted him to take his time. I expected his next words would wrap this case up—if he could recollect enough of the evening.

  “Not much really, although I will say that lately some of the events are vaguely coming back. I got out of my car, realized where I was and checked the time. It was just about seven. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever told Rusty that Jonas had wanted to meet with him, so I thought that I’d walk over to the museum to see if they had connected. When I got there, I saw there was a brick holding the door open. I walked in, but the museum was dark. I turned left into the hangar, which was where I’d left Jonas earlier in the day. The last thing I remember is seeing a light on in the flight simulator. I’m sorry.”

  “To be clear, you didn’t have the Devil’s Breath serum, Jeb, did you? It was still in Jonas’s possession?” I asked.

  “That much I know for sure, yes. But after that, it’s a total blank, pretty much until I woke up the next morning in my own bed.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief and continued. “Mary Ann, you said that after Jeb’s episode at Spitfire, when he was totally out of it and confused, he’d gone to the doctor and had a full battery of tests.”

  “That’s right, and everything came back normal. Normal, that is, for someone who drinks and eats too much and doesn’t exercise enough.”

  That got the men in the room to suck in their stomachs.

  “Mary Ann, you told us that they were running one more panel to check for a substance in his blood they had seen traces of. Did you ever get the results of that test?”

  “You know, I’d forgotten all about that. I probably put it on Jeb’s desk, along with his other mail. Did you read the results, honey?”

  Jeb shook his head and went in the other room to retrieve the envelope. The officer with Augie quickly followed him.

  “Really, Augie?”

  “Protocol,” he stubbornly replied.

  “You’d better read it, dear. I don’t think I can hold the paper steady. This thing has got me so upset.”

  Mary Ann took the envelope, opened it, and first read it quietly to herself . . . then to the room.

  “It says that the substance scopolamine was found in the patient’s bloodstream. Enough that in a smaller man, there could have been a significant reaction. In a follow-up test a week later, there was no longer any trace of the drug.”

  “Jeb,” I continued, “is it possible you entered the flight simulator to see if Jonas was in there and he was, waiting for Rusty? Did Jonas have a syringe loaded with Devil’s Breath in his hand?”

  “I guess so. I just wish I could remember.” He shook his head in frustration.

  “Augie, does it not seem to you that Jonas and Jeb fought in the cabin? Jeb got poked with the needle, and then, in defending himself, Jeb turned the syringe on Jonas and he got the brunt of the dose? The blood test proves Jeb had scopolamine in his system.”

  “When you put it that way, maybe. But Jeb could have conveniently chosen to lose his memory because he was the attacker rather than Jonas.”

  “Fine, have him take a polygraph, see a shrink, get hypnosis; these are certain to corroborate his story. And Augie, did you recover a syringe when your team searched the simulator?”

  Augie nodded. “Yes.”

  “Then I assume you tested it for fingerprints. Did you find any?”

  “Yes, Jonas’s.”

  “No one else’s? From, say, Jimmy or Jeb?”

  “No. We were going on the theory that the killer wore gloves.”

  “If Jeb had been the killer, don’t you think he would have taken the murder weapon away with him? He probably went for Jonas’s wrist when he saw the syringe coming at him, which would be much easier to grab. This is a self-defense case.” I’d said this with the vehemence of a preacher in a church full of whores.

  “I still have to take you to the station to give a statement, Jeb. I’ll get my supervisor involved and then see if we can let you go home on your own recognizance.”

  Jeb nodded solemnly. “I’ll be right by your side,” Mary Ann told him.

  She went in the bedroom to get her purse and keys and the rest of us filed out. As I passed Augie, he touched my elbow.

  “I will deny ever saying this, but that was some amazing detecting, Halsey.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me. The only person I’ll tell is Auntie Marisol.”

  “Don’t you dare!” When I reached the sidewalk, Jack was waiting for me.

  “I’ve worn the fight all out of me tonight, Jack. You’ll have to save your tongue lashing for another day.”

  “Halsey, I’m sorry, I’m such a fool.”

  That wasn’t exactly the response I’d expected, given what he’d said to me earlier in the day. But I didn’t say anything and continued walking to my house with Bardot.

  “You were amazing in there,” Jack went on, trying to keep up with me. He has much longer legs, but I walk like a New Yorker—fast and determined. “Heck, you were amazing throughout this entire ordeal. If you hadn’t kept pushing and plowing away for the truth, heck, both Jimmy and Jeb might have been facing long prison sentences. You ran circles around the local cops, you even beat the DEA at their own game. You should be doing this, Halsey, for real.”

  I’d slowed down my pace.

  “It was stupid of me to even try to tell you what to do, it’s just that I love you so much that I can’t help but be protective. In my bumbling, cow-on-ice way.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

  For the first time all day, I saw his face turn up in a smile.

  “Can you see it in your heart to forgive me? Please?”

  “Maybe. Now keep your voice down. Rose Avenue is trying to sleep.”

  We walked the rest of the way holding hands.

  EPILOGUE

  Things began to settle down on Rose Avenue. We were settling into autumn but still enjoying having events like Wine Club outside. Jeb’s future was still hanging in the balance, but things were looking up for him and he was getting the care he needed. He was still working on recovering his memory and had made some breakthroughs. Augie so much as said to Mary Ann that Jeb’s involvement in the case, along with the prescription medicine issue, would probably never even make it to the prosecutor’s office.

  “That’s a relief. I think Mary Ann makes a fine addition to our Wine Club.” Jimmy had also relaxed. He was back working with the good old boys at the airport and had taken up golf. To Bardot’s delight, a neighbor two doors down had gotten a yellow Lab puppy for his son named Simba, and Bardot was showing him the pool ropes. And if that wasn’t enough good news, I had made it my mission to plant something in the spot in my backyard where the palm tree had been struck by lightning. I went for a sago palm, which is still tropical but doesn’t grow to biblical proportions.

  Finally, the big day had arrived.

  The Abigail Rose Winery looked a lot different from the last time I’d been there. It was clear Penelope and Malcolm had been hard at work not only getting it ready for planting season but for their beautiful, picturesque wedding as well.

  The weather couldn’t have been more perfect. Midseventies, the bluest of skies and a gentle, almost whisper of a bree
ze. We’d heard Penelope’s sister had flown in from London to be her maid of honor, and her parents were in attendance.

  The dry rows of land we’d seen last time had been turned and fertilized and now sported young vine rootlings, getting accustomed to their new home. The stone house and tasting rooms had been spruced up and given a new roof and windows. We had gathered in front of it and toward the edge of the hill, where a gazebo and rows of chairs had been placed. Fall flowers were omnipresent.

  “Well, don’t we all clean up good?” Sally remarked, arriving with her husband, Joe, and cousin Jimmy. All three looked like they had just come from a Ralph Lauren catalog shoot.

  Peggy had come with Aimee and Tom. She’d tossed aside the fleece and denim vests in exchange for a dark blue midi skirt and a baby pink flared silk blouse.

  Jack and I had made up, and he had kept his promise not to try to tell me what to do. In return, it had dawned on me that it wasn’t very realistic, when you’re in a relationship with someone, to refrain from reacting to his or her decisions. We’d developed a new lexicon to soften our comments; if we weren’t so comfortable with the other’s choice in something, we would now say okay, I’m here if you need me, or you know how to take care of yourself, things like that. I still reserved the right to say, You’re wearing that? if a certain ensemble seemed less than splendidly sartorial.

  Speaking of which, it seemed our choice of wardrobe for the wedding was a success because every second person who talked to us asked if we’d set a date for our wedding. I’d gone with a knee-length, powder-blue-puff chiffon-tulle skirt and an off-white sleeveless shell. Jack wore a blue and white seersucker suit, white shirt and yellow-and-blue-paisley tie.

  “Anyone met Penelope’s parents yet?” I asked, scanning the lawn.

  “Not yet. I’m not even sure what they look like.” Aimee looked lovely in a floral print dress.

  “Just look for the two people with the whitest faces and rosiest cheeks.” Peggy was an anglophile and makes a pilgrimage to Oxford and Cambridge every year.

  “Look, there’s Marisol and her two girls.” Sally waved them over.

  Marisol also has a few items in her closet that aren’t of the garden clog variety or culottes worn with holes. She’d gotten her hair done for the occasion and was even wearing heels.

  “I was expecting you to fly in,” I said to her.

  “I thought about it. Hi Jack. You remember my girls, Martha and Terry?”

  “I do, and all three of you look spectacular.”

  “Look, there’s Malcolm!” Aimee clapped.

  He was in white tie and tails and looked very handsome. I could tell he was nervous because his red cheeks were sending signals into space.

  “I hereby declare the Rose Avenue Curse is gone! Come on, they want us to sit down.” Sally herded us toward the folding chairs.

  “We’ll be right there,” Jack said, steering me by the elbow to the other side of the tea roses.

  “Halsey,” Jack began, while lowering his six-foot-four frame down on one knee, “in the two years I’ve known you, my entire world has been turned on its ear in a much-needed way. You’ve taught me to be adventurous, take risks and laugh at life. You’ve shown me how to really enjoy people by letting my guard down and allowing myself to be vulnerable. Most of all, you’ve taught me how to love, unconditionally. After my dad died, I never thought I’d be able to open my heart like this.”

  He took a breath and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a worn leather box with a gold clasp and opened it. Inside was the most gorgeous antique emerald-cut diamond engagement ring. It took my breath away.

  I looked into his beautiful face and gorgeous amber eyes, looking up at me expectantly.

  I really love this guy.

  I got distracted for a moment when I saw a car driving up the curved path to the lawn.

  “What on earth is Augie doing here?” I said.

  What The Rose Avenue Wine Club Drank:

  “Gibbs Obsidian Block Reserve Cabernet” Napa Valley, California

  “Don Miguel Gasçon Malbec” Australia

  “Bedrock ‘Ode to Lulu’ Rosé” Sonoma Valley, California

  “Ciacci Piccolonini d’Aragona Ateo Red Blend” Tuscany

  “Norton Reserva Chardonnay” Argentina

  “Elyssia Cava, Pinot Noir Brut” Spain

  “Tooth and Nail Fragrant Snare Chardonnay Blend” Paso Robles, California

  “Paraduxx Rosé” Napa Valley, California

  “Pittnauer Rosé” Austria

  “Rideau Vineyard Rosé” Santa Ynez, California

  “Mulderbosch Cabernet Sauvignon Rosé” South Africa

  A Wine Club Guide to Pairing Wines with Cuisines of the World

  A

  American: Burgers and dogs don’t always have to cry out for brewskis. In the summer there are actually a bevy of red wines that should be served chilled. Peggy, our Oregon wine aficionado, favors Johan Vineyards, Farmlands Pinot Noir from the Willamette Valley. She says that the Victoria plum and strawberry flavors with a peppery spice “make the burgers stand up and salute.” For sausages and hotdogs I’m going to step in and suggest this Provençal-inspired Rosé: Liquid Farm Rosé of Mourvedre from Happy Canyon of Santa Barbara, California. Crisp, clean and refreshing, this gives a whole new meaning to “drinking a cold one.”

  Australian: If you’ve got some giant prawns on the barbie or are grilling Australian lamb chops, you’ll want to top it off with some delicious Aussie wines. For the shrimp the Wine Club gals can’t say enough about the Robert Oatley Signature Series Margaret River Chardonnay from Western Australia. Bright with white peach accents might have you declaring, “Strewth, this wine’s bloody ripper!” For those beautiful, tender lamb chops Sally swears that the Aussies make the best Shiraz. She loves the Laughing Magpie Mclaren d’Arenberg Shiraz/Viognier.

  B

  Bavarian: Having a hearty meal of bratwurst mit sauerkraut? Throw on your lederhosen and pop the cork on a bottle of Airlie Winery Riesling from the Willamette Valley. It will stand up to the spiciest of mustards! And you know who loves sausage? Bardot!

  Belgian: Penelope insists on eating her fries out of a paper cone whether they’re made in Brussels or anywhere else for that matter. And her grape of choice for accompaniment? She says that you can’t miss with a Sauvignon Blanc from France’s Loire Valley and recommends a bottle of Les Deux Moulins for its dry, crisp flavor. Got waffles on your mind with powdered sugar and fresh berries? Then don’t forget the sparkling Vouvray.

  Brazilian: Feijoada, a hearty black bean kind of chili, is the national dish of Brazil. This stew is brewed with a variety of salted and smoked pork sausages and beef to make a rich and vibrant meal. And neighbor Argentina can provide the wine; a Bodini Malbec from Mendoza will do just fine.

  C

  Cajun/Creole: What’s the difference between the two? It’s a rural vs. urban style. Cajun is a more simple, stick-to-your-ribs cuisine with dishes like jambalaya, a one pot stew with rice and a base of browned meat, maybe alligator or shrimp. Wash it down with Sally’s favorite Vivanco Rioja Reserva from Spain. If you add tomatoes to the jambalaya you can call it “Creole” but you’d be missing out on the classic Louisiana shrimp creole. Check out Paul Prudhomme’s recipe and serve it with my choice of a chilled Eden Trail Eden Valley Riesling from South Australia to temper the heat of the dish.

  Chinese: Is your moo shu pork feeling a bit naked? Add a glass of Jean Paul Brun Les Pierres Dorées Beaujolais.

  E

  English: How about a bit of bubbly with our fish and chips?” Penelope is known to ask. The affordable Scharffenberger Brut Excellence Sparkling Wine from Mendocino, California, is tip top!

  F

  French: The French have a wine pairing suggestion for every one of their signature dishes so it’s hard to narrow it down. “If you’re thinking that there is enough wine in a coq au vin then you’re sorely mistaken, sister,” Peggy once told me. I immediately ran out and
bought some Maison Berthaude Chateauneuf-du-Pape from the Rhône Valley.

  G

  Greek: Who doesn’t love a spanakopita spinach pie? Aimee is a huge fan and finds a reason to shout “Opa” every time she eats some. She also likes to pour some Ca’ Momi Bianco di Napa for the table.

  H

  Hungarian: The next time that you dip into a bowl of chicken paprikash you might want to take a page out of Sally’s book and decant a bottle of Langhe Nebbiolo Barbaresco. As she tells it you’ll take one bite and one sip and say, “Ottoman!”

  I

  Indian: What goes best with naan flatbread, basmati rice and tandoori chicken? Penelope, who grew up in England, loves Indian food. For this smoky dish she recommends a fruit-forward Pinot Noir such as Stoller Dundee Hills from Oregon. Notes of plums, red currants and raspberries give it an earth-driven, plush finish.

  Irish: Peggy’s been known to tuck into a plate or two of corned beef and cabbage and not only on March 17. She’s fond of a French white Burgundy with this dish such as a Genouilly Bourgogne Alig-oté. “And for St. Pat’s sake, don’t dye it green!”

  Italian: There is such a luscious bounty of great Italian food, but for now I am going to focus on pasta. If you like your noodles with tomato sauce I recommend a Pinot Grigio such as the Italian Tesoro della Regina, or for a red a fruit-scented Nebbiolo like the full-bodied Malabaila Roero Bric Volta from Piedmont, Italy.