by J. C. Eaton
The front windows gave visitors an unobstructed view of Alvin. It was impossible, but he looked as if he had grown at least a foot overnight. I was sure the vineyard workers were thrilled beyond belief to be adding him to their to-do list each day.
The winery office was off to the left as visitors entered the building. Nothing special, as I remembered. Some desks, a computer, file cabinets and a printer. Things might’ve changed, but I doubted it. If this was the spot Francine envisioned me working on a screenplay, she was sadly mistaken. I pictured all sorts of interruptions and not the good kind, either.
“Miss Ellington, can you check on a sewage smell?”
“Miss Ellington, the exterminator says we have termites.”
“Miss Ellington, someone dropped a case of our merlot.”
Nope, I had my laptop, the house had Wi-Fi, and the winery had staff. End of story.
I opened the door to the tasting room and stepped into the kitchen on the right. I almost didn’t recognize it. Two industrial dishwashers took the place of the old clunker we were forced to use. In addition, there were two stainless-steel refrigerator/freezers. The double sink was the same, but the faucets had been replaced. I hadn’t really paid much attention to the financials and I wondered if Francine and Jason were in too deep. Was that what she alluded to last night?
I took in the small banquet room behind the kitchen. Other than new tablecloths and window treatments, it looked the same—a warm and cozy spot for bachelorette and engagement parties, meetings, local author book signings and all sorts of events. Lots of wineries, including Two Witches, did that sort of thing to generate extra income and promote the wines. I paused in front of a watercolor a local artist had painted of the winery, then I exited through the banquet room’s main door into the tasting room.
We wouldn’t open for business for another hour, but I could see the back of a woman whom I assumed was Cammy. Before I could say anything, she spoke.
“Please and thank you for the year.”
“Huh?” I stared at the robust brunette with her hair in a bun and an orange winery T-shirt that read, Two Witches Winery–The Spell’s On Us.
“It gets crazy around here when we’re doing tastings. I don’t have time to be saying please and thank you when we’re slammed so I like to get it over with right away. Cammy Rosinetti, tasting room manager. You must be Francine’s sister.”
“Norrie Ellington, screenwriter.”
“Uh-huh.”
She looked at me as if she thought I was delusional. “Planning on writing an exposé on the winery business? Because if you are, I’ve got the skinny on stuff you wouldn’t believe. Not here, of course, but word gets out.”
“Uh, no. I write romances. Maybe you’ve heard of some of the movies I’ve adapted from novels or short stories. Kisses in the Snow, A Hug from the Mountaintop…mostly TV movies.”
“Nope. I don’t go in for all that sappy stuff. I understand you’re taking over the winery for a year. Doubt you’ll have a whole lot of time to be writing about hugs and kisses.”
“I’m overseeing the winery. Not actually working, working.”
“Uh-huh. We’ll see how that goes. Have you ever served customers in a tasting room before?”
I thought back to high school and cringed. “Sort of. It didn’t last long. I got a job instead writing up ads for one of the local newspapers.”
Again, the “uh-huh” followed by “It’s really quite simple. People come in. People taste wine. Hopefully people buy wine. Your job is to get them to buy wine. But without being pushy. The wine sells itself.”
“Oh, I’m not going to be doing the tastings. Like I said, I only need to learn how to do the tastings. All I remember is white wine first, then red. Always go from dry to sweet.”
“That’s more than most newbies know. Look, I’ll walk you through this anyway. In case.”
I didn’t like the way she said “in case.” I was afraid it was code for “you’re on the schedule.”
First thing Cammy did was take out a tasting sheet and point to the list of wines. “Each customer gets to taste five wines for five dollars. No double tastings. Keep in mind, it’s a taste, not a glass.”
Then, as if to prove her point, she took a bottle of water and one of the wineglasses and showed me what she meant. “Some of our customers think wineries are barrooms. We have to remind them this is only a tasting. If they love the wine, they can purchase it. Plus, we deduct two dollars from the cost of the tasting if they buy a bottle.”
“Whoa. Sounds like a good deal to me.”
“It is. It’s also pretty customary around this wine trail.”
In the next half hour, she walked me through loading the dishwasher with the filled trays of used wineglasses and restocking the shelves.
“Other than the ones in the bins by the wall, the wines are in the storage room behind that rack of T-shirts. Don’t carry out more bottles than you can comfortably handle. Better a dozen trips than one that ends up with broken bottles and wine all over the floor.”
“Uh, other than you, who works here?” I asked.
“Lizzie mans the cash register. She’s full-time like me but different days. I’m here every day except Sundays and Mondays. Glenda works Sundays, Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Roger works Wednesdays, Fridays and weekends. Sam works alternate Fridays and weekends. I can get you a schedule if you want.”
“Uh, I’m okay for now.”
“Oh, forgot to mention this. In the fall, we hire more part-time help for the weekends. The wine trail all but explodes with visitors between September and December.”
Explodes. Terrific. I translated that to mean I would be the one responsible for hiring the part-time help. “I suppose there’s an application process and all.”
“Sure. But most of our hires are from word of mouth or people we recommend.”
Finally, I got to see the wine list. Cammy insisted I sip each wine so I’d know the product before I left the tasting room or her reputation would be sullied forever. I didn’t argue.
I wasn’t really what anyone would call “a drinker.” Not even a glass of wine once a week. Pretty unusual coming from a family that owned a winery. But I wasn’t a teetotaler either. I’d have a glass of wine now and then at celebrations and I’d been known to enjoy dessert wines after dinners when I had the chance to dine in fancy restaurants.
I picked up the tasting sheet and perused it. I recognized the staples that appeared on most Finger Lakes winery lists—Chardonnay, Riesling, Gewürztraminer, Cabernet Franc, Cayuga, Lemberger, Merlot, Pinot Noir, Pinot Gris and Vignoles—but I was taken back when I saw a new name: Grüner Veltliner.
“What’s that?” I asked. “I thought I was pretty familiar with the grapes we grow.”
Cammy looked at the list and let out a long, torturous sigh. “It’s a white wine with hints of peach and citrus. Very food friendly.”
“Then why do you have that awful expression on your face?”
“It’s not the wine. It’s the grape.”
“Huh?”
“Not native to the Finger Lakes and when your sister and the vineyard manager wanted to introduce it, well, let’s just say it was a real process. It meant removing the old vines from some of the Chardonnay grapes that had been here forever and planting the new stock.”
“I thought that was something vineyards did every fifteen years or so. The vines don’t yield the quantity and quality like they used to.”
“True, but they always replant the same or similar varieties. The Veltiner is a real risk. Customers are leery of trying something new.”
“At least the blends are the same. We still have Cauldron Caper, a mix of Cabernet Franc and Cayuga, and, oh look—Witches Brew. That was Francine’s favorite.”
“Yeah. It’s a top seller, too. Great blend of Riesling, Pinot Gris and Cha
rdonnay. Say, you know more than you’re letting on. For someone who says they distanced themselves from the winery, you seem very knowledgeable.”
“Uh, like I said, I worked in the tasting room for a while but let’s leave it at that.”
Cammy shook her head and laughed. “Okay. How many bottles did you break?”
“An entire case. That wasn’t the worst of it. It was the last case of some very expensive dessert wine. I kind of tripped over something.”
The laugh lines on the side of her mouth got bigger. “Maybe you can help with the gift shop if you feel like it. The gang and I have it pretty much under control when it comes to ordering stock, packing and shipping cartons to buyers and organizing the little events for the banquet room.”
Just then the door swung open and a stout gray-haired lady with red lipstick and wide hoop earrings walked in. She took off the light jacket she was wearing, revealing a lime green T-shirt from the winery. “I spoke to Lizzie this morning. She’s making the bank deposit and will be in shortly. What’d I miss?”
Cammy motioned her over and stepped back from the table. “Good morning, Glenda. This is Norrie. Francine’s sister. She’s going to be managing the winery while Francine and Jason go chasing after some bug in Costa Rica.”
I could tell by the tone of Cammy’s voice she had the same impression of Jason’s entomology work that I did.
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
“Same here. Hope you plan to do some tastings with us. It’s really tremendous fun. Never a dull moment. I thought when I retired from food service at the school I’d never want to work again. This is different. No food fights. No screaming kids. Of course, it does get kind of hairy in the fall, but nothing we can’t handle, right, Cammy?”
Cammy puffed out her chest as if she’d been awarded a medal of honor. “We’ve got it all under control. Oh, before I forget, there’s something you need to know.”
“What’s that?”
“Whatever you do, do not let Charlie in the tasting room. To begin with, he usually smells bad. But that’s not the worst of it. He passes gas. It’s horrible. It drives the customers away. Here we are serving wonderful wine with crackers and all of a sudden it’s like the Ovid dump moved next door.”
“Uh, how will I recognize him?”
“He’s medium size and tan.”
“Is he one of the vineyard workers?”
Cammy and Glenda exploded with laughter and I stood there wondering what the joke was.
Finally Cammy spoke. “I guess he wasn’t at your house last night. He does that. Disappears from time to time. Probably out hunting raccoons or rabbits.”
Whoever that Charlie guy was, I had him pegged for a really unreliable worker and wondered why on earth he’d be at my sister’s house. “I don’t get it. What’s so funny?”
Glenda crinkled her nose and laughed again. “Charlie’s a brindle Plott Hound. He showed up last year and never left. The guys in the winery building feed him, as well as your sister. He’s kind of the unofficial ambassador around here.”
“I take it he’s friendly.”
Both ladies nodded. “Oh yeah. Very friendly. And not to worry. He’s fixed and has had all his shots. The vet estimated he’s about two.”
“I guess with all the hubbub last night, Francine and Jason forgot to mention him. Although, I did get the lowdown on Alvin.”
“Yeah,” Glenda said. “That goat’s a real attraction for families. Well, I suppose I’d better get my station set up. Doors open in twenty minutes. Fred should be here any minute to get the bistro going.”
I couldn’t believe the time had slipped by so quickly. I glanced at the bistro and read the list of sandwiches from the chalkboard. “I think I’ve found my new lunch spot.”
Suddenly, a tall pencil-thin lady with white slacks and a light pink button-down shirt walked into the tasting room, clicking her heels on the tile floor as she approached us. Her short dark hair framed her face and I estimated her to be in her late forties or maybe early fifties.
“Is Francine Keane in? I need to speak with her immediately.” She ran her fingers through the fringe of her plum-colored scarf as she spoke.
Cammy gave me a sideways glance and I cleared my throat. “Uh, she’s out running errands. I’m her sister, Norrie. Maybe I can help you. I’m going to be overseeing the winery while she and my brother-in-law are in Costa Rica for a year.”
The woman’s stone-cold stare was menacing. “If they know what’s good for them, they’ll stay in Costa Rica.”
I swallowed and rubbed my hands together. One word came to mind but we spell it with a W at the winery. “Maybe I can take a message.”
“Tell your sister this isn’t over. I’ve registered a complaint with the county. I want those cannons to cease and desist immediately. This morning I all but fell out of my bed when the first one went off. This isn’t the Civil War, you know. We don’t have to put up with it. I already spoke to those two gentlemen at the Grey Egret and told them the same thing.”
She pronounced gentlemen as if it was a curse word. I bit my lower lip and kept my calm. “And you are…?”
“Elsbeth Waters. I own the Peaceful Pines bed and breakfast on the next hill over. Your sister is quite familiar with me.”
I’m sure she is.
With that, Elsbeth Waters clicked her heels and exited the tasting room.
“Whoa,” I said. “Maybe she should rename her B & B to The Third Witch.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Cammy said. “At least this was a short visit.”
Chapter 3
Francine was home by noon and made us chicken salad sandwiches. We sat at the round oak table in her kitchen and watched the visitors going in and out of the tasting room building.
I helped myself to a few potato chips and took a sip of iced tea. “I met your neighbor Elsbeth Waters. It didn’t go over too well. What’s going on? Other than her complaining about the cannon noise.”
“It’s always something with her. The woman’s been a misery ever since she bought the old Tyler place and converted it to a bed and breakfast. She knew about the cannons and the birds-in-distress calls when she purchased the property. Right now we’re only testing the propane cannons. They usually run from August to the beginning of October. Elsbeth was informed. Hank Langley, the realtor, told me it was on the disclosure statement from the seller. If we didn’t make those noises, we wouldn’t have any grapes. The birds, deer, rabbits and foxes would get them all. Not to mention coyotes.”
“You don’t have to tell me. I counted on those propane cannons to wake me up. It was better than Mom screaming ‘You’ll miss the bus.’ After October, I had to get used to her screaming again and couldn’t wait until harvest time rolled around once more. Funny, but I got the feeling something else was gnawing at Elsbeth Waters. That wasn’t the issue you wanted to talk with me about, was it?”
Francine shook her head and put the used plates in the sink. I grabbed a dishtowel and wiped the table as she spoke.
“A big developer is trying to buy out the small wineries on the west side of the lake so his company can build a mega-winery between Geneva and Penn Yan. The wine trail would become some bland commercial business and lose all of its charm. They’ve been pressing the smaller wineries to sell and some have agreed. It’s the last thing Jason and I want to do.”
“Can’t you just say no? I think that was actually an anti-drug campaign some first lady came up with.”
“Nancy Reagan and it’s not that simple.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t prove it, but we think they’re resorting to dirty tricks. Small things like finding dead animals on winery doorsteps and in mailboxes. One winery owner came to work in the morning and wondered why there were no visitors. He drove down the road to find a closed sign had been placed over hi
s entrance marque.”
“That doesn’t sound trivial to me.”
“It is, compared to what they could do. That’s why you have to be on your guard. In case it escalates. Oh, Norrie, this is the worst possible time for us to be going to Costa Rica, but Jason’s grant was very specific about the time frame. I’m really sorry to be throwing this at you, but at least you’ll have some support from Theo and Don. They own the Grey Egret and are good friends of ours. They bought the winery from the Martinellis five or six years ago and have done wonders with the old place.”
“Uh, yeah. The gentlemen. That’s how Elsbeth Waters pronounced it when she mentioned them.”
“Ugh. She’s a piece of work, that Elsbeth. Theo and Don are more than winery partners. They’re life partners and Elsbeth seems to take issue with that.”
“Elsbeth should step out of the middle ages.”
“Tell her that. Anyway, as I was saying, all of us on the west side are rattled, but we’re not caving.”
“If I run into anything awful…I mean, truly awful, I’ll call you.”
“Um, about that… It won’t be so easy. The places we’re going to are off the grid. Rainforests. No cellular service. Jason and I will keep in touch as best we can. Listen, Theo and Don know what they’re doing and you’ll be fine. You can also reach out to Henry Speltmore at the Speltmore Estates a few miles up. He’s president of the wine association and a decent guy. Don’t look so panicked. Our staff’s been around for a long time and everything’s routine to them. Even normal winery emergencies.”
“I’ll keep that in mind when I climb to the roof and wave a white towel over my head.”
“John Grishner and his crew will be done by three. I asked him to stop over and give you a rundown on their operation.”
“John. Thank goodness. At least it’s the same vineyard manager we’ve had for decades.”
“Had’s the right word. He’ll be retiring next summer. The assistant manager is being groomed to take over. Peter Groff. Nice guy. Graduated from the state university at Cobleskill with a specialty in plant science and got his grad degree at UC Davis. Worked for a big winery in California, too, before coming back east.”