D is for Drunk

by Rebecca Cantrell

  A idan was quiet the next morning. Sofia arrived one minute late, and he didn’t hassle her. She got her coffee in peace and was sitting down at her desk to write up her report from yesterday when Aidan’s phone rang.

  “Aren’t you going to get that?” she asked.

  He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at it. “I don’t recognize the number.”

  “What if it’s one of your online dates?”

  “More reason not to answer it,” he said. “Besides, they always text.”

  Sofia snatched the phone off him. “Aidan’s phone!”

  She had to jockey around the room to keep away from him as he tried to get his phone back.

  “Umm...it’s Taylor?” The voice sounded familiar.

  “From Marmalade?” Sofia asked.

  “How’d she get my number?” Aidan stopped chasing her.

  “Hold, please.” She pressed the hold button. “I gave it to her.”

  “I can’t talk to her. I don’t know anything about her.”

  She pressed the hold button again. “He’s right here, and he’d love to talk to you.”

  She slapped the phone into Aidan’s palm.

  “Hello?” he said.

  She couldn’t hear Taylor’s side, but Aidan laughed.

  “More like a meddling little sister,” he said.

  Brendan came out of his office. “Good morning!”

  Aidan gave him a two-finger wave, and Sofia walked over to Brendan. “I started on yesterday’s report.”

  “Give me the highlights.”

  Jaxon was the highlight, but she limited herself to the inspection of the Grigoryan house where no leaks were detected, and the arrival of the police car. “No way was the music too loud.”

  “Neighbor feud,” Brendan said. “Maybe there’s something to Mr. Grigoryan’s allegations. Maybe his neighbor is stealing his water.”

  “I had to lie to Mr. Grigoryan to de-escalate the situation,” Sofia said. “I told him the cop was leaving to cite his neighbor for a spurious noise complaint. Was that OK?”

  “Lying to the client,” Aidan was suddenly right behind her. “A big no-no.”

  Nice to know he had her back.

  “It might have been justified in this instance,” Brendan said. “Sounds like Sofia was saving the client from himself.”

  “I was,” she said. “I totally was.”

  “I’d like you two to head over to the neighbors’ house today, see what you can find out from Annabelle and Marcel Befort. Don’t say who you’re working for,” Brendan said.

  “We can be wine tasters,” Sofia said.

  “A nice young couple looking to join the wine community,” Brendan said. “Think you can manage that?”

  “A couple?” Aidan groaned.

  “I can manage,” Sofia said. “I’m an actress, after all, so I’m good at pretending the most ridiculous things are true.”

  Out in the parking lot, she headed for the Tesla.

  “We’re taking my car,” Aidan said.

  “But I’m driving,” Sofia said. “So we get there while we’re still young.”

  “Fine.” Aidan tossed her the keys.

  The keys practically hit her in the head, she was so surprised, but she reached up at the last second to catch them. Good thing, too, as Aidan’s keychain had a tiny flashlight on it. That thing would leave a mark.

  The Porsche was super loud compared to the Tesla, but it had good acceleration. Aidan didn’t seem to notice as she peeled out of the parking lot and onto the highway. He was typing furiously on his phone and muttering.

  “Whatcha doin’?” she asked.

  “Research. Watch the road.”

  She ignored him and dedicated herself to his car. It was hard to believe it could be so fun to drive, since she was usually in it with Grandpa Aidan.

  She passed Grigoryan Vineyard and headed over to Befort Vineyard. The grapes were ripe here, too, purple and green balls bright against the leaves. The vines were arranged pretty much the same as the Grigoryan’s were, but the house was completely different.

  The Befort house was huge, but built into the contours of the hill, instead of lopping off the top. Where the Grigoryan’s castle was rounded and ostentatious, everything about the Befort house was square and minimalistic. It probably cost as much.

  “We’re here, Phone Boy,” she said. “Ready to go taste some wine?”

  Aidan shoved his phone in his pocket. “Why’d you give that waitress my phone number?”

  “I thought you two might hit it off. I saw chemistry.”

  “Why did you think that? Exactly.”

  Before she could point out that the waitress seemed nice and had left him her number and sometimes it wasn’t any more complicated than that, a woman called out. “Welcome!”

  Sofia turned toward her. A black dress clung to the woman’s pencil-thin body, and when she walked, her heels clicked against the driveway like castanets. Her lipstick was a red slash and her bangs were cut at an angle. It wasn’t a look most women could pull off, but this one could.

  In her slacks and Oxford shirt, Sofia suddenly felt underdressed.

  “My name is Annabelle Befort.” The elegant woman had a very slight French accent. If Sofia were playing a Frenchwoman, she’d want to copy it.

  But she wasn’t. She remembered their roles—Young Couple Looking for Wine—and took Aidan’s arm. He looked startled.

  “I’m Sofia and this is Aidan. We’re here for a drop-in tasting,” she said to the French woman. “A friend of ours sent us. He has a restaurant in Beverly Hills, and he raves about your wine.”

  “Does he?” Annabelle smiled. “Then you must come to taste it for yourselves.”

  Aidan tried to pull his arm free.

  “We’re a couple,” she said, under her breath. “Remember?”

  “We’re not one of those couples who hang all over each other,” he whispered.

  She didn’t let go of his arm. She’d decided they were going to be a hand-holding couple. The woman would probably assume his sulkiness was because of a fight in the car. Oddly enough, they hadn’t fought in the car. That must be a first. Probably because she was driving.

  “This way,” Annabelle called. “The tasting room is this way!”

  “Is that a stable?” Sofia asked.

  “Would you like to see? I have my beautiful mare in there.” Annabelle changed direction and led them to the stable. “A vineyard is a wonderful place because it holds so many different delights.”

  Aidan walked along next to her, not exactly like a couple, but like a guy who’d given up arguing. That would do.

  CHAPTER 16

  T he stable was dark and smelled of hay. A horse whickered. It was the only horse in the place. The other three stalls looked as if they’d been empty for a while.

  “Hello, my Percy,” Annabelle called. “We come for you.”

  Percy was a delicate black mare who was clearly well-taken care of. Her immaculate coat gleamed like black glass, her mane was carefully combed, and her hooves looked polished. The horse could have walked off the cover of Black Beauty.

  “She’s gorgeous,” Sofia said.

  “She knows this, and she expects a treat from me, but I have nothing. Shame on me!” Percy nuzzled Annabelle’s open palms. “I do not deserve such a magnificent animal.”

  Annabelle stroked the horse’s velvety cheeks, and Percy rested her head against Annabelle’s cheek. Annabelle closed her eyes. She looked sad.

  “Looks to me like she’s happy to have you here even without a treat.” Sofia tried to cheer her up.

  “You can touch her.” Annabelle’s hand fluttered toward Sofia. “She likes women. Men, she endures.”

  Sofia held out her palm to let the horse sniff her. Aidan stayed a couple of paces away. Apparently he didn’t want to be endured.

  Annabelle took Sofia’s hand in hers and guided it up to the horse’s neck. The horse felt warm beneath her palm, and Annabelle’s hand
was cool on top of hers as they stroked the mare’s neck together. Percy’s intelligent brown eyes looked into hers.

  “She has eyelashes like a supermodel!” Sofia said.

  Percy lowered her head and nuzzled her neck. It tickled.

  “She likes you. It’s unusual for her to take to someone so quickly.” Annabelle was about an inch away, and she still hadn’t let go of Sofia’s hand. Her dark eyes softened. “She senses you are a beautiful person.”

  Was Annabelle hitting on her, or was this a French thing? Every culture has its own sense of personal space. She had learned that in some acting class.

  “Percy is an unusual name for a mare.” Sofia knew she was babbling. “It’s usually a boy’s name.”

  “It is?” Annabelle laughed. “How delicious for her! But her name is not Percy. That is only a pet name, because her real name is so long.”

  Sofia smelled Annabelle’s spicy perfume, mingled with the honest smell of horse.

  “Wine,” said Aidan. “We’re here to taste some wine.”

  Actually, they were there to snoop around, and gaining Annabelle’s trust was a good starting point. Since she couldn’t say that aloud, she petted the horse one more time and stepped away.

  Aidan looked flushed, and Sofia shot him a quizzical look.

  “We host a party here tonight,” Annabelle said. “For friends and neighbors. Would you like to come, Sofia?”

  “We would both like to come,” Aidan said.

  “What time?” Sofia asked.

  “It starts early, at seven with wine and cheese. But it can run until late in the night.” Annabelle’s eyes stayed fixed on hers. “Very late.”

  Aidan cleared his throat. “The wine tasting?”

  “But of course.” Annabelle gave Percy a final kiss, then led them out of the stable.

  Sofia took in a deep breath. The air was different up here, not like the sea air by her trailer or the smoggy air she had to endure in Los Angeles. This air smelled of horse, hay, grapes, and hot stone. It was intoxicating.

  Aidan took her hand, and she looked at him. His curly hair was disheveled by the breeze, and his eyes had that tight look at the corners he got when he was worried.

  “Let’s taste some wine!” she said.

  Annabelle gave them a leisurely tour. It was pretty much the same spiel as Milena Grigoryan had used, except Annabelle talked about the tradition of French wine instead of Armenian and she extolled the virtues of French oak barrels instead of Armenian oak barrels. Apparently no one liked American oak barrels. Annabelle was more effusive than Milena, but maybe that was because she was treating them like customers instead of private investigators.

  Annabelle had poured them their first red when the door opened and a tall, thin man walked in. He had a sharp face, a long nose, and gray hair. He looked like a whippet.

  “Hello,” said Annabelle. “It’s surprising to see you here so early, Marcel.”

  It was after noon, and Sofia could tell from the tone of Annabelle’s voice that Marcel was in trouble. Even Aidan heard it. He gave Marcel a sympathetic look.

  “We have guests?” Marcel asked.

  “I’m Sofia, and this is Aidan.” Sofia stepped forward and offered her hand. Marcel ignored her hand, drew her close, and kissed her on both cheeks. French. Aidan didn’t offer a hand to shake. Guess he wanted to keep his cheeks pure.

  “You have come to try our wine,” Marcel said. “You are so lucky.”

  “We started with the pinot noir,” said Annabelle.

  “They will be ruined for the other wine after that.” Marcel picked up the glass that was supposed to have been Aidan’s.

  Annabelle poured Aidan another.

  “It’s called black pine—pinot noir,” said Marcel, “after the dark color and the way it looks like a pine cone with the grapes clustered so close together.”

  Sofia nodded. She felt as if she ought to be taking notes.

  “Drink some.” Marcel was very close to her now. He smelled of French perfume, but not overwhelming. “Pinot noir is known as ‘sex in a glass.’ Do you think this is true?”

  She took a small sip. She wasn’t sure what to say, and this felt like a test. “It has a little bit of cherry in the taste.”

  “Very good!” said Annabelle. “You have a talent for wine.”

  “Not cherry,” Marcel said. “Black cherry.”

  Sofia liked the Grigoryan’s pinot better, but didn’t say it.

  “I invited them to the party tonight,” Annabelle said. “They’re looking for new experiences.”

  She and Aidan hadn’t said that.

  “Those are things we can offer here,” Marcel said. “Perhaps more wine?”

  She tried different kinds of wine until they all started to taste alike, but still Annabelle kept pressing her to try something new. Sofia felt light-headed and flushed. “I think you should drive back.”

  Aidan reached for the keys in her hand, but Marcel took them first.

  “Such practical things, keys,” he said. “And yet they can lead to such delights.”

  “I like a fast car as much as the next woman,” Sofia said.

  Marcel smiled at her, and she felt dizzy. Something was wrong with his smile, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

  Annabelle took the keys from Marcel and handed them to Aidan. “We will see you back here at seven, Sofia? We would most like that.”

  “Of course.” She would need to eat something and sober up a bit before she came back. How much wine had she drunk? Lots.

  Annabelle beamed at her, and Aidan looked pointedly at the door. No one had told him that he had a talent for wine, and it seemed to bother him. Sofia clinked her glass against his.

  “Down the hatch!” she said. It was a line from Half Pint Detective that came up whenever Half Pint and her friends were drinking juice.

  “I know you,” Marcel said suddenly. “You’re Sofia Salgado, are you not?”

  “I am.” She’d introduced herself, hadn’t she?

  “Are you a celebrity investor?” Marcel took the wineglass out of her hand. “Someone who dabbles at designing labels but doesn’t care what goes inside the bottle. We don’t want that kind of help. We’re doing fine on our own.”

  “She’s just a woman who loves our wine,” said Annabelle.

  “I’m not an investor,” Sofia said. “I came here to taste some wine.”

  “I should have seen this sooner.” Marcel looked over at Annabelle. “You arranged this?”

  “They showed up to taste some wine because a chef told them of us,” Annabelle said. “I did not call them here.”

  “This is not true.” Marcel grabbed Sofia’s arm above the elbow. “They’re here to see what we have that they might want. They’re vultures.”

  He marched Sofia across the room. His grip was so tight it hurt.

  “Hey!” she said. “Let go.”

  Aidan wasn’t so polite. He twisted Marcel’s hand off her arm so roughly Marcel yelped.

  “Don’t touch her,” Aidan said.

  Sofia was still trying to figure out what was going on. The wine made her brain feel foggy and slow. She was drunk.

  “Leave at once!” Marcel said. “At once!”

  Aidan put his hand on her back and directed her toward the door and the parking lot beyond. “Leaving will be our pleasure.”

  Marcel shouted at Annabelle in French. She yelled right back at him. Sofia couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it was clear they were both pretty angry.

  Aidan had her out of the room and halfway across the parking lot while she was still trying to figure out what they’d said. She didn’t speak French sober, and drunk it was worse.

  “Get in the car.” Aidan opened the passenger door for her and went around to the other side.

  He pulled out of the driveway and they started down the hill in slow motion. The poor car deserved so much more.

  “What was that all about?” she asked.

&n
bsp; “Sounds like he thought you were going to buy his winery out from under him,” Aidan said. “Even though you don’t know you are supposed to sip at wine tastings, not chug.”

  “I didn’t chug.” Or only a little.

  “I definitely want to look into his finances now,” Aidan said. “I bet there’s something going on there.”

  “Hot-to-Trot?” Sofia was starting to feel queasy.

  “I can see why Grigoryan doesn’t like them,” Aidan said. “Hard to believe anyone does. I wish I’d dropped a bug in their house so we could listen in.”

  “They’re having that party.”

  “I think we’re uninvited.”

  “In Los Angeles who doesn’t like celebrities?” Sofia burped. “No one, that’s who.”

  “Let’s get some food in you,” Aidan said. “I have a plan for searching the properties to look for theft or a leak, even without a bug.”

  “Your driving is making me carsick,” she said.

  “Don’t you dare throw up wine on my upholstery! It stains.”

  “You’re taking the curves all sloshy.”

  “Roll down the window, you lush.”

  CHAPTER 17

  T he restaurant didn’t look promising. It looked like a barn, and it had a wagon wheel out front and a specials board listing chili burgers. Her stomach lurched.

  “Should we keep going?” Aidan asked. “There’s a great fish tacos place not far from here.”

  “We stop here.” She wanted to get out of the car.

  If it hasn’t been his precious Lemon Drop, he probably wouldn’t have stopped, but Aidan would never risk his interior, so he pulled into the gravel lot and parked.

  It was good to be standing still. She got out of the car and closed the door. Wagon Wheel was spelled out in old timey letters on the door, so faded she hadn’t seen it from the road.

  She and Aidan headed straight for the front door without talking. The interior was pretty much what she’d expected—wooden tables, a barrel instead of a hostess stand, and various pieces of harness stuck to the walls.

  “I’m going to use the facilities,” she said. “Order me toast and tea. Some soup.”

  Aidan didn’t make a crack.