A Flair for Chardonnay
Deborah Garner
Cranberry Cove Press
A Flair for Chardonnay
by Deborah Garner
Copyright © 2016 Deborah Garner
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
First Printing – May 2016
ISBN: 978-0-9960449-5-0
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
EXCEPT FOR BRIEF TEXT QUOTED AND APPROPRIATELY CITED IN OTHER WORKS, NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM, BY PHOTOCOPYING OR BY ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL MEANS, INCLUDING INFORMATION STORAGE OR RETRIEVAL SYSTEMS, WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE COPYRIGHT OWNER/AUTHOR.
Printed in the U.S.A.
Also by Deborah Garner
Above the Bridge
The Moonglow Café
Three Silver Doves
Cranberry Bluff
Mistletoe at Moonglow
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 Chapter 2
Chapter 3 Chapter 4
Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 7 Chapter 8
Chapter 9 Chapter 10
Chapter 11 Chapter 12
Chapter 13 Chapter 14
Chapter 15 Chapter 16
Chapter 17 Chapter 18
Chapter 19 Chapter 20
Chapter 21 Chapter 22
Chapter 23 Chapter 24
Chapter 25 Recipes
For all who love mystery, chocolate and wine –
or any combination of the above.
CHAPTER ONE
Sadie Kramer signaled left, moved into the fast lane and stepped on the accelerator of her red ’65 Mustang convertible. The morning fog had lifted, leaving sunshine in its wake. Humming along with a favorite tune, she turned up the volume on the radio. Nothing better than sunshine, good music and the wind in her hair to accompany her across the Golden Gate Bridge. It was a perfect San Francisco afternoon. Had she not been headed for the wine country, she would have hated leaving her favorite city behind. But her destination had its own appeal. And this time there was more than wine tasting to lure her north on Highway 101. There was mystery, her favorite addiction. That and chocolate, of course, but she usually managed to find a way to combine the two.
In fact, it was her neighbor Matteo’s odd behavior recently that had triggered her interest in the Tremiato Winery. Matteo, like Sadie, adored life in the city, and she was glad he did. He was the best chocolatier in San Francisco, not only in her opinion, but in the opinion of hundreds of loyal customers who flocked to his shop, Cioccolata, daily for dark chocolate creams or caramel cashew turtles. Her personal favorites were his truffles – raspberry, coconut, caramel, hazelnut – there were no bad flavors as far as she was concerned. And she'd tried them all.
Sadie, whose fashionable boutique, Flair, flanked the renowned chocolate shop, had heard the story many times. Although Matteo was the oldest sibling, he had long ago lost his status as the favorite son. After his father passed away, his mother and siblings expected him to take over the family business. Instead, Matteo had chosen to follow his passion for designing and producing unique chocolate treats. Although he was a star in culinary circles, he was a black sheep in his own family.
When she opened Flair, Sadie, too, had followed a passion. She’d been a flashy dresser all the way back to her teenage years. Even her most fashion-forward friends couldn’t compete with the wild outfits she concocted. Her orange and lime green paisley bell-bottoms had been considered an avant-garde fashion statement when she’d paired them with a bright yellow chiffon blouse, matching vinyl boots and a two-inch wide beaded rainbow headband. During her adult years, especially after she married her third husband, Morris, she’d had to leave her wild fashion days behind her. As the wife of a real estate investment banker, she was expected to choose more subdued attire. When Morris passed away, he left her with a hefty portfolio and the freedom to dress as she pleased. She rented an empty commercial space in a prime location and indulged every whim of her imagination when she stocked it.
Flair was unlike any of the many boutiques she’d visited over the decades, from the most basic to the most extravagant. Each time she went shopping, she built a new layer to her imagined idea of the perfect boutique, one that would encourage repeat customers with an appreciation for unique fashion – like her own, of course. She stocked a multitude of colors, fabrics, textures and styles as well as every type of bead and bauble to accompany them. On those days she was at the shop, she loved witnessing the transition of women walking in wearing humdrum clothes and walking out with outfits that shouted, “I’m an individual!” On days, like this one, when she was out on what she called an “Exploratory Excursion,” her competent assistant, Amber, knew how to pull fashion statements together for customers. Sales never suffered when she was away, which allowed her the perfect life, a combination of couture and curiosity. Add to that her love of food and chocolate, and she had the winning formula, in her opinion: the four “C’s,” Couture, Cuisine, Chocolate and Curiosity.
Of course, there was one more important “C” in her life. She tilted her head to the side and whispered in the direction of a tapestry tote bag on the passenger seat. “What do you think, Coco? What’s going on with Matteo’s family?” The tote bag yipped back a reply that could only come from a Yorkie. “I’m thinking along those same lines, Coco,” Sadie continued. “Something unusual is going on.”
Sadie signaled right and changed lanes to pass a vehicle going the speed limit. Exasperated, she reached into her glove compartment, pulling out a white mint truffle and popping it into her mouth. Not one to judge character simply by a person’s desire to maintain a legal speed, she still didn’t appreciate a car of moderate speed in the fast lane. She had places to go and people to see, after all. Adding another speeding ticket to her collection didn’t bother her as much as figuring out why Matteo had been so preoccupied with worries about the Tremiato Winery that he’d forgotten to restock the buttercreams the day before. He’d never done that, and it was indeed troubling.
Even more troubling was the tension in Matteo’s voice that carried from the back room of his shop as Sadie was deciding between a pineapple truffle and peanut butter cup. He’d clearly been upset by a phone call he received in the middle of her indecision, and he took the phone into a back room and left Sadie alone with her usual afternoon dilemma. His hushed voice had not been that troubling, but the increased volume before the call’s abrupt ending, combined with the anger that creased his brow when he reappeared, concerned her. And even though she couldn’t hear most of the conversation, she was certain Matteo had uttered the phrases “stop pressuring me” and “you need to back off” and “the winery.” She’d returned to Flair with pineapple truffles for herself and both assistants, announcing that she’d be going out of town for a few days.
Now, watching the Golden Gate Bridge disappear in her rearview mirror, she debated the possible reasons for Matteo’s strange behavior. The Tremiato Winery was a fixture in the area, going back four generations. As far as she knew, the Tremiatos weren’t having financial issues. At least nothing had hit the news, and Matteo had mentioned no problems. The best restaurants carried Tremiato wines, and the wines commanded a decent price in grocery and liquor stores. The Tremiato Chardonnay was especially popular. Sadie often served it with appetizers during open houses or private showings at Flair when she wanted a festive atmosphere.
Ruling out financial hardship, if that turned out to be a dead end, Sadie considered family conflict. Matteo had never hidden the fact that his f
amily disapproved of his career decision. She and Matteo had talked about it many times over excesses of cocoa and sugar. Had one of the other Tremiato family members caused a stir? She knew that Matteo had two brothers and one sister, plus his mother, all involved in the business, a decent handful of relatives who could cause trouble. And that didn’t even count spouses. Sadie had never gotten the names straight, but remembered the sister being the second oldest after Matteo.
Lost in thought, Sadie almost missed her exit, but caught the turnoff just in time. She headed east twenty minutes, then north another twenty on Highway 29, until she arrived in St. Vincent Hollow, known affectionately by locals and wine enthusiasts as “St. Vin.” The winery’s expansive set of ironwork gates stood open. A sign beckoned guests in with the prospect of wine tasting. Thinking a cool sip of Tremiato Chardonnay sounded just right after her drive up from the city, she turned into the driveway and cruised up to the tasting room, admiring the grapevines in the vineyard that flowed out in each direction. The diagonal rows seemed almost hypnotic as she passed by. She refocused her attention on the small parking lot ahead, pulling into an empty space, setting the brake and stepping out of the car.
Since she’d timed her exit from the city to avoid rush hour traffic, she arrived at 2 p.m. It didn’t surprise her to see there were few cars. It wasn’t a weekend, or a holiday, or one of many special event periods that lured visitors to the wine country. Still, she expected to see a few guests, based on the overall popularity of the area. But the license plates were mostly personalized with some version of the Tremiato name. “TREMCHAR” one read. “VINOTREM” read another. Yet a third read “3MIATO.” She had a hunch the main occupants of the tasting room were going to be family. Reaching over the convertible’s edge, she picked up her tote bag and delicately pulled it up over her shoulder. Pressing the alarm button on her keychain to lock the car, she headed inside.
CHAPTER TWO
The Tremiato Tasting Room was a decorative blend of Old Italy and Napa Valley Chic. A black and white marble floor stretched from the doorway to the “L” shaped tasting counter, giving the room an art deco feel. Shelves across the room were brimming with wine-themed paraphernalia from crystal glasses and corkscrews to garden tiles and trivets. Sadie crossed the room immediately, lured by the impromptu shopping opportunity.
She discovered books on every aspect of wine: growing it, tasting it, serving it, drinking it and pairing it with food. No hangover tips? Sadie wondered as she thumbed through an encyclopedia of wines from Bordeaux. She winced, thinking of a particular Sunday morning when she’d consumed more than her fair share of seltzer water, trying to shake off the after-effects of a wild night on vacation in France. She put the book back and moved on.
Just beyond a wrought iron stand with dangling grapevine-print aprons, Sadie halted in front of a tall, refrigerated selection of cheeses. Although the selections of horseradish cheddar, Camembert, Gruyere and Brie enticed her, she found the decadent assortment of sweets alongside them far more tempting. Next to a few imported tins of miniature mints and fruit bonbons were the finest chocolates known to mankind. Rich, dark, milky, almond-centered, caramel-laden, coconut-covered and liqueur-infused – they were all there. In every respected brand, as well, Sadie noted. Except for Matteo’s, which was blatantly missing.
“Welcome to the Tremiato Winery.”
Sadie startled at a deep male voice beside her. The heavenly display of chocolate had been too captivating to notice anyone approach. She swiveled quickly, finding herself face to face with a tall, substantially built man, sturdy, but not overweight. He wore his dark hair swept off his face and plastered down with product so it was difficult to tell if the hair was his own or a toupee. His youthful appearance – Sadie estimated him to be in his early thirties – indicated it was probably just a bad style choice. Sculpted facial features gave him a stern look, yet not unfriendly. He was close enough to be straddling the conventions of personal boundaries.
“I am Angelo.” Sadie responded to his strong handshake with a cautious smile, stepping back far enough for the refrigerated case to send a chill across her shoulders. She did a quick sidestep to detach herself from the cool surface.
“Sadie Kramer,” she offered. “I was just admiring your cheeses and chocolates.”
“Both delightful accompaniments to our fine wines,” Angelo said proudly. “Please come to our tasting counter. We have a remarkable chardonnay. It would be a perfect match for that Brie you see in the case, perhaps with imported English water crackers and a trace of raspberry preserves.”
Sadie threw a longing glance at the chocolate display and followed Angelo across the room, where she sat at the counter. He stood opposite her, reached below the varnished surface and brought out an elegant bottle of pale gold wine. The signature Tremiato label – golden clusters of cascading grapes, surrounding a Florentine “T” on a black background – dressed the bottle. Sadie waited politely while Angelo poured a half inch of chardonnay into her glass, and then brought it to her lips, tasting it and nodding her immediate approval. “Delicious,” she exclaimed, taking another sip before setting the glass down.
“That is our best seller,” Angelo said. “It’s a good wine to have on hand – for unexpected company, or just to relax after a hard day. Just keep it chilled and enjoy with light appetizers or an entrée of salmon, perhaps.”
“I could see serving it with a Gruyere fondue,” Sadie said. “Or maybe halibut with a lemon-caper sauce.”
“Ah, yes,” Angelo said. “I see you know how to match a fine wine like this with a culinary compliment.” He slid a basket of crackers next to Sadie’s glass. “So what brings you to our winery?”
Sadie recognized the tone as polite small talk, as opposed to genuine interest, and answered accordingly. “I’m just taking a weekend away from the city, stopping here and there along Highway 29. There’s so much to explore. I didn’t even know where to start, so I just popped in here first.”
“Well, you started at the right place,” Angelo beamed. “We’re one of the oldest wineries in the area. My great-grandfather Giovanni Tremiato started the business in 1897. He passed the business on to my grandfather, Angelo – I am named after him, you see. And Grandfather left it to my father, Gustavo, who just passed away last year.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sadie said. Angelo nodded courteously. “And you run it now?” Sadie asked, taking another sip of the Chardonnay.
“Yes, with my brother, Stefano.”
“And his sister,” a third voice added from behind Sadie. A woman with hazel eyes and dark brown hair swept up in a bun stood in the doorway, dressed in a plain navy blue dress and low pumps.
Angelo cleared his throat and flashed a wide grin that Sadie suspected lacked sincerity. “This is my sister, Luisa.”
“Also one of the owners,” Luisa clarified. She entered the room and took a place behind the counter next to her brother. She reached in front of Angelo with a kind of defiant confidence, lifted the bottle and added more wine to Sadie’s glass.
“Thank you,” Sadie said. The tension between the brother and sister was palpable. “I’m Sadie.”
“Are you visiting from out of town?” Luisa had stepped back, but maintained a territorial stance.
Sadie nodded, her wine glass a few inches from her lips. “Yes, from San Francisco. I decided to take a break from the city for a few days, so I drove up here.”
“I can see wanting to get out of the city,” Angelo said. “I was just there for a trade show. I’m down there on business at least a couple times a month and that’s more than enough, really. I prefer the tranquility of the wine country. And this is home to me.”
“It’s home to all members of the Tremiato family,” Luisa added, as if she were correcting her brother.
“Do you have a large family? And do they all work at the winery?” Sadie hoped her questions sounded more casual than investigatory, though she waited eagerly for the answer. She already knew th
e family make-up from talks with Matteo, but wondered how the description would differ from the perspective of each of the other family members. She took a nonchalant sip of wine.
“Large is relative,” Luisa said. “Sometimes we have a few too many working here, other times we could use a few more.” Luisa grabbed an empty glass and poured an inch of wine for herself.
“There are three of us here, plus our mother,” Angelo explained. “But we try to keep her from working too much. She’s worked hard for many years, as did our father. Now it’s our turn. From generation to generation, as family businesses go.”
Sadie smiled, noticing Luisa did not correct Angelo on the number of siblings, which clearly excluded Matteo, who would have made four. Although Matteo had said he wasn’t regarded as part of the family, to hear it from his own brother and sister seemed sad.
“Are you here for the weekend?” Angelo asked. “We have an event tomorrow, our annual Harvest Festival. Perhaps you can make it.”
“Is it harvest time?” Sadie asked. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about wine making.”
“It’s slightly past harvest time,” Angelo said. “We’re too busy to manage a festival during the actual harvest. We harvested our white wines last month, and we just finished with the reds. Now we can finally relax and celebrate the season. We want our employees to be able to enjoy the festival as much as our guests. In any case, I do hope you can make it.”
“I might be able to,” Sadie said. “I’m here for a couple of nights.”
Angelo moved to offer Sadie more wine, but she shook her head. “No more, thank you. I should be going. I need to go get settled in somewhere, but I’ll try to come back tomorrow.”
“Are you staying in town?” Angelo picked up Sadie’s wine glass and wiped down the counter.
A Flair for Chardonnay Page 1