The Case of the Voracious Vintner

by Tara Lain

  “We capped it at twenty-five white and twenty-five red. We filled every opening, and no winery was allowed more than three total entries.”

  “That’s fantastic.”

  Bo glanced over his shoulder. “Where’s Jeremy?”

  “He got tied up. He sent me over ahead and said he’d be here soon. How can I help?”

  “You can make sure all the forms are on the judges’ table and that the tasters’ materials are out for the guests. Is all your food here?”

  “Yes, in the kitchen, and I brought my few staff to help out.”

  His staff? “Great. Can’t wait to taste it.”

  Christian waved a hand idly. “As if we’ll have time for a bite.” He laughed as he hurried away.

  Bo smiled to cover his uneasiness. He and Jeremy hadn’t seen each other a lot in the last few wildass days. They’d split up the tasks involved in putting on what was turning into a very big event in a very short time. That had them running in multiple directions. Still, the one time Bo had seen Jeremy, he’d seemed restless and jumpy. I guess it makes sense. I’d be jumpy too if Ottersen was bearing down on me. Bo wanted to ask Jeremy just how hard-hit Hill Top Winery was financially, but he didn’t really know him that well. Of course, that could just be his own Southern reticence to discuss money.

  Christian’s voice came from the door to the tasting room. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You’re just a bit early. I’m going to have to ask you to come back in two hours.”

  Bo glanced over. Hell. He hurried across the big room. “Christian, stop. These are my friends, and I invited them to come early.” Llewellyn and Blaise stood by the door.

  “Oh, sorry.” He still looked a little suspicious. “I take my job too seriously.”

  Bo said, “Christian, this is Dr. Llewellyn Lewis and Blaise Arthur. Jeremy and I will be hosting their—”

  Christian clapped his hands together. “—wedding! Oh my God, I’m so happy to meet you. I’m thrilled to be working on your wonderful event. I have so many ideas I just can’t wait to show you.”

  Llewellyn looked neutral as he said, “Wh-who are you, Christian?”

  Bo had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. If the Wonderland caterpillar had asked, “Whooo arrre yooouuu?” it couldn’t have been more pointed.

  Christian glanced at Bo, but damn. Let the dude get himself out of this.

  He extended his hand. “I’m so sorry. I let my excitement get the better of me. I’m Christian Fallwell, Jeremy’s assistant. He told me about the opportunity to work with both of you on your lovely event, and I’m thrilled.”

  Llewellyn nodded and Blaise shook his hand, but neither gushed back. Blaise said, “Yes. We’re excited about having our wedding at Marchand”—if there was a slight emphasis on that word, it might have been accidental—“and having Jeremy partner with Bo on the planning of the event.” Again, the careful pronunciation of Jeremy didn’t necessarily represent a rebuke to Christian’s overzealous ownership of the reception.

  “Yes. Jeremy’s just brilliant at event planning.” He turned and placed both hands on Bo’s arm. “Bo too, I’m sure.”

  When no one said anything, Christian had to cover his own gaffs. “Well, back to work. Sorry for being the gate guard. Good to meet you both.” He turned and practically ran away.

  Bo watched him go. “He’s just young and officious. I hear he’s efficient as a beaver in a dam, bless his heart.” Blaise snorted, and Bo turned and gave them both a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. Come have a sit and we’ll talk.”

  They followed him back to his office. When Llewellyn and Blaise had come in and taken seats at his tiny conference table, Bo glanced up and down the hall, then closed the door. “Lord, it feels odd to be peering into shadows.” He took a seat at the table.

  “D-do you expect Ottersen to t-target you?” Llewellyn stared at him.

  Did he? Or was he just trying to spend time with Jeremy? “Yes. I mean, why shouldn’t he? My wines are harder to duplicate, but money talks, sugah. People aren’t gonna buy my bulk if Ottersen sweetens the pot enough. He’ll get around to me.”

  “Especially if he sees you helping Jeremy.” Blaise glanced at Llewellyn.

  Llewellyn nodded but said, “B-but you d-don’t have to be t-too obvious about it t-today.”

  Blaise said, “Stay low-key. Just make it a business thing until we know more.”

  Bo’s head snapped up. “It-it is business.”

  Blaise waved a hand. “Sure. Just more business.” Noise from the hall got all their attention. Blaise stood, and Llewellyn rose beside him. “Sounds like the vultures are circling. We’ll get out there and report back later.”

  “Thank you both so much. I’ll be out there in a second.”

  They walked out, and Bo took a breath.

  A head popped in his door—his favorite head. “Hi. Sorry to be late. What can I do to make it up to you?” The smile was genuine—genuinely devastating, complete with dimples, sparkling blue eyes, and rippling golden hair.

  “Uh, come in for a second.” Bo stood.

  The smile tightened, so Bo must have sounded serious. Jeremy stepped inside, closed the door softly, and said, “What’s up?”

  “Llewellyn and Blaise are suggesting that we downplay our, uh, friendship, at least for purposes of this party. We teamed up because—” He waved a hand. What was a good reason?

  “Because we both have food service, and we wanted to make the event about food as well as wine. Maybe we’re considering adding a culinary prize next year?”

  “That sounds like a reasonable explanation.”

  Jeremy nodded and extended a hand. Bo cocked his head but took the offered handshake.

  Jeremy said very seriously, “Good doing business with you there, Beauregard.”

  Bo laughed, then assumed a serious demeanor. “And with you, uh, Jeremiah.”

  “Just Jeremy.” He grinned.

  “Okay, just Jeremy. My pleasure.”

  Jeremy’s whole face transformed into something soft, gentle, and sensual. “And I’ll be forever grateful.” He stepped forward, stretched the inches it took to reach Bo’s cheek with his lips, and planted a sweet, soft kiss right on the edge of Bo’s mouth, complete with—maybe, or it might have been a dream—a hint of tongue.

  Bo gasped loud enough for both of them to hear. His penis, always stimulated around Jeremy, leaped to attention. Jeremy’s gaze drifted from Bo’s face downward. Maybe his lips turned up a fraction more; then he stepped back and opened the door. “See you outside.” Boom. Gone.

  Bo leaned against his desk to hold himself up. I have to find a way to tell him.

  Maybe I just did.

  JEREMY STRODE down the hall and into the wide-open tasting room. God, I should stop flirting. Bo’s my Obi-Wan Kenobi. My only hope. If I piss him off, I’ll get what I deserve.

  Guests were pouring in the doors, and the big room was starting to not look empty. Wow. He headed toward the kitchen to check the food.

  Truth? It was so hard to quit teasing Bo. Jeremy really liked him, and liked was a euphemism for some complex stew of lust, admiration, affection, and gratitude. Obviously, from the substantial boner in Bo’s pants and other evidence, he responded to Jeremy’s come-ons. Did that make Bo gay? Bi? Probably some label like that. But if Bo hadn’t admitted that to himself, forcing him to face his feelings could get Jeremy one-eighty from where he wanted to be.

  Walking through the kitchen door acted like a wipe to his brain. Instant focus on the moment at hand. Christian ran over. “Jeremy, the avocados are crap!”

  Jeremy followed Christian’s quick steps to the butcher block counter, where a young chef of Bo’s stood with his hands raised and a slightly panicked expression. Yep. The avocadoes he’d been slicing for crostini looked grayish and had an odd texture. “How do they taste?”

  The chef held out a slice. “Pretty good. Much better than they look.”

  Jeremy took a bite. “Someone froze them. Damn.” He looked
at Christian, who shrugged.

  “We never had them. I have no idea.”

  The chef shook his head. “They went into our storage shed. No one’s touched them.”

  He scowled. “Someone did.” His hands wanted to shake, but he squeezed them into fists. “Okay, turn the avocadoes into guacamole, add lots of sour cream, tomatoes, and lemon. It’ll taste good. Make bruschetta from the crostini.”

  Christian did his hoppy thing. “Brilliant!” He looked at the chef. “You got it?”

  “Yes. And honest, I never—”

  Jeremy smiled. “No one thinks you did. Just work your ass off, and we’ll make this even better.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turned to Christian. “I want you to keep an eagle eye on every detail in here, got it? Nothing else needs to go wrong.”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “All of our wines got here?”

  “Yes. Both for the tasting and the party wine.” His eyes were wide. He looked freaked.

  “Good man.” Jeremy forced himself to smile and put a warm hand on Christian’s arm. Then he turned and sped out of the kitchen.

  Outside, the room was full with people munching and sipping.

  “Hi, Jeremy.”

  He smiled at Genevieve Rendell, not as flirtatiously as she grinned at him, as he trotted by. He reached out and squeezed her extended hand. “Excuse me. Got to see to the wine.”

  “Oooh, we wouldn’t want to get in the way of our libations.”

  When he got to the tasting bar, Bo was behind it. Jeremy slipped in beside him. “We need to check our wine, especially the bottles in the tasting.”

  “Why?” A crease marred his usually smooth forehead.

  “Someone tampered with the avocadoes.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish.”

  “What should we—?”

  Jeremy held up a hand. “Handled.”

  “You’re brilliant.”

  “Come on.” Jeremy grabbed Bo’s arm and pulled him toward the judges’ table. As they passed some of the guests, they got pats on the back.

  Several people called out, “Great party, Bo.”

  Even Ezra stopped Bo as they walked past. “Excellent idea, this whole festival thing. We should discuss how more of us can get involved.”

  Bo smiled. “Thanks, Ezra. Most kind. I just wanted to prove the concept, and Jeremy was brave enough to take the chance with me.”

  Ezra glanced at Jeremy. “Yes, well—”

  “But as sure as God made little fishes, Ezra, we’re wanting this to grow into something bigger, and your good advice could surely take us there.”

  “Well, good. I’d suggest—”

  “Ezra, we want to schedule a sit-down with you and Marybeth to discuss how we can make this a community-wide event, but right now we need to be sure this one is running like butter on a cookie sheet.”

  Ezra chuckled. “You do have a way with words.”

  Jesus, Bo invented charm.

  Ezra cleared his throat. “But when you have a minute, I’d really like to know how you got the inspiration for this event.”

  “Hold that thought, Ezra, and we’ll discuss it.”

  Jeremy headed for the wine table, and Bo followed him. Jeremy murmured, “Ezra’s probably horrified that we’re celebrating some pagan deity in our festival.”

  “That’s the least of our worries at the moment.”

  Jeremy stopped in front of the bottles lined up for the judges’ consideration.

  Bo waylaid him. “We can’t touch the bottles.”

  “We’re running the contest.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We can’t tamper with the validity of the contest if we want people to take this seriously.”

  “We’ve got to check, Bo. What if someone messed with the bottles?”

  “Seriously, do you think it could have happened?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll go to the judges.”

  Bo made a straight line to Genna Greenstein, the most influential of the judges. She looked up and smiled. “Hi, Bo.”

  “Genna, would there be any objection to Jeremy and I checking our bottles before the tasting begins?”

  She frowned a little. “I suppose not. It’s your event, after all. Is there a reason?”

  Bo held up a hand. “We don’t want to compromise the validity of the tasting in any way, but—” He sighed loudly. “You know how there have been a few uh, unexplained happenings going on?”

  “Yes, sadly I do.”

  “Well, we just want to be sure none of that occurs here. So what if we rescue our bottles and then you taste them along with a bottle we each approve. You decide if maybe something is, uh, different?”

  “Yes. I’ll do that for sure. I’m sick of this crap.” She crossed her arms over her elegant chest.

  Fifteen minutes later Bo and Jeremy had gathered their entered bottles plus a bottle they’d each tasted and established as good. Two of the judges opened the sample wines, poured and tasted, then tried the approved bottles.

  Jeremy held his breath and almost grabbed Bo’s hand, but that would have been a shitty idea.

  Bo flashed his dimples at Genna. “So what’s the verdict? I feel like a jackrabbit in a porcupine cage.”

  Genna frowned and looked at the sheet from the other judge again. “Your wine is fine, Bo.”

  “Well, good. That’s a relief.”

  Her gaze crept up to Jeremy. “Yours is total junk. Nothing like the sample. The entry was laced with something. It might actually have been vinegar, but subtle, so we could have thought it was supposed to taste that way.”

  Jeremy pressed a hand to his eyes.

  “I’m really sorry, Jeremy. Please enter the bottle we tasted.” She looked up sharply. “Maybe you should save that bottle that’s been tampered with.”

  Bo said, “Isn’t it possible Jeremy’s bottle could have gone bad?”

  Jeremy stared at him. Why the fuck did he ask that?

  Genna scowled. “Not a chance. I know the difference. It was tampered with.”

  “Thank you, Genna.” Bo smiled. “Your expertise is deeply appreciated. If you detect anything fishy during the tasting with any of the other wines, please signal me. We want to be as fair and equitable as possible.”

  “You can count on me.”

  “I do.”

  As they walked away, Jeremy said, “You wanted her unbiased opinion.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you, Bo.”

  They walked into the big room, packed with people shoulder to shoulder. Jeremy looked up and froze.

  He heard Bo’s indrawn breath.

  Through the front doors of the tasting room, with an attractive dark-haired woman beside him, walked Ernest Ottersen.

  Chapter Nine

  JEREMY COULDN’T resist this time. He grabbed Bo’s hand.

  “Easy, darlin’.” Still, he dropped Jeremy’s hand, which sadly left Jeremy free to punch the bastard. He gritted his teeth.

  Ottersen looked up and surveyed the room like some predator sniffing the air for small furry creatures. Sickly, Jeremy could detest the guy and still think he was hot as shit, all that slick black hair and deep, evil eyes.

  Ottersen’s evil eyes connected with his. For a second Jeremy tensed because it looked like the asshole was staring at him. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Bo plaster on a huge smile—plaster was the word.

  Ottersen stepped into the room—leaving behind the pretty woman—walked directly forward, elbowing through the tight crowd, and extended both his hands as he approached. “Bo, darling. You’re brilliant and creative. What a fabulous event.”

  “Thank you, Ernest.” Bo took his hands, and they did some kind of double shake.

  Ottersen turned his head. “Jeremy. Delighted. I know you played a role in this as well. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.” Smile, idiot. Everyone’s watching. He managed to turn up his lips.

/>   Bo said, “Thank you for contributing to our wine service, Ernest.”

  “Least I could do.”

  Bo looked beside him. “Oh, Ernest, may I present my good friends Llewellyn Lewis and Blaise Arthur. They’re both professors at Middlemark University.”

  Blaise stuck out a hand with his smile that launched a thousand beating hearts. “Llewellyn’s the professor. I’m just a wannabe.”

  Llewellyn said, “B-but I’m very interested in w-wine and h-how it’s made.”

  Ottersen lit up. “Really? Are you a science professor?”

  “N-no. H-history.”

  “Really. We’ll get you to write a history of the central coast wine country.”

  “F-fascinating idea. Wh-who was the first wine grower?”

  Bo said, “Excuse me please. We have some details to handle.” He put a hand on Ottersen’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you in good hands.”

  Bo walked away, and Jeremy followed. Jeremy muttered, “I forgot I’d actually be seeing him in the flesh.”

  “You did great. Let’s get the wine tasting started.”

  “Do you think he’ll look surprised when the judges don’t toss my wine down the sink?”

  “Probably not.”

  “I sure hope Llewellyn and Blaise find out something we don’t already know.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, darlin’. No one’s even been able to prove Lucky’s fire wasn’t an accident so far. I doubt we’ll crack the case tonight.”

  “Hope springs eternal and all that.” Jeremy stood back a little as Bo approached the judges. He knew them better. Man, he liked it when Bo called him darlin’. Of course, he called lots of people that.

  Bo walked to the judging table and picked up a hand mic. He tapped it, which Jeremy could barely hear over the noise of the boisterous crowd, but it must have been live because Bo said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the judges will begin their tasting. Results will be announced later in the evening. We have fifty wines in two general categories being tasted. Since this is our first Dionysian Festival, we’ve kept it very simple and will be awarding only first, second, and third places in red and white wines. Think of it as a best in show in each type of wine. If everyone enjoys the event, we’ll consider expanding the contest next year.”