by West, CJ
What do these people have in common? Mr. & Mrs. Robert Joyet, Mr. Joshua Roundtree, Mr. Blake Wendell, Mr. Steven Bartlett, Mrs. Elizabeth Hall, Mr. William Neddles, and your latest victims, Mr. & Mrs. Claude Porier.
Oh Charles, how clever you were. Propylene glycol in the dosage was good, but I’m sure you never expected to attract so much attention. How difficult it was to repair the damage to Westport’s reputation. You even had to rename it Marston Vineyards, or was that just pride?
Then you found Saccharomyces bailii, the yeast that can survive almost any concentration of SO2 and sugar. How many times could such rare yeast find its way through the filtration system? Did you sprinkle it on the backside of the filter, or did you put it directly in the bottles? I could never tell.
A little oxygen in the bottle and violá, a yeast colony. The film forms on the surface of the wine while it ages, the stench follows and soon the whole batch is ruined. The problems must have driven your partners mad. I never would have discovered it myself if I hadn’t caught you fiddling with the bottling equipment. Good thing your former partners never got together. But they never discuss such things, do they? I bet I could arrange it. I have a collection, you know. Four bottles from four different wineries—all contaminated by Saccharomyces bailii. Quite a coincidence, that you own these four wineries now. Oh, the possibilities, Charles!
Bribing the panel in Piolenc, now that was good. I wonder if you knew your special yeast would die in the red wine or if you tried it first. I guess I’ll never know. $75,000 a year is expensive, but this time you didn’t have to venture into the processing room. And think of the money you saved when you bought the whole operation for a quarter of its value! Smart business Charles, very smart.
You’re an evil man, an opportunistic swine to put it nicely. You steal and pillage for sport, but that’s over. It’s time to pay. I wish I could be there to see Charlie’s face when he learns what a scum you truly are. In fact, I might just go to Westport.
I know you can’t afford to contact the police. Just make sure Liz doesn’t get any ideas. It would be a shame to have to kill such a lovely lady before I get to know her better.
Gather 50,000 in US dollars. I’ll tell you how to deliver it. This is just the beginning. My four bottles will be the most expensive wine you ever purchased.
Elizabeth wouldn’t look into his eyes. She held the first note again, crumpled in her angry grip. “How much of this is true?”
Silence. His face reddened, his head bowed, and his eyes and lips shut tight against the world.
Elizabeth barely hesitated. “How on earth could you do something like this? Who are you, Charles? What have you become?”
“I was desperate. We needed the money.”
“When? Fifteen years ago maybe. Not now! We didn’t need this silly castle. You stole this vineyard and evicted these people for what? Money? We could have bought this place if you really wanted it. What’s wrong with you, Charles?”
Silence.
“Who are you? I thought I married a decent man. I’m so embarrassed... I’m such a fool, practically killing myself, helping you fix perfectly good wineries. I was so proud… of what? Damn you! Damn you for pulling me into this.”
“Please forgive me, Liz.”
“What about your son? What are you going to tell him? Have you thought about that? We don’t know who this maniac is or what he wants.”
Charles grabbed the envelope from the floor and studied it. The address was the same. The American flag on the stamp was unmistakable. The postmark read New Bedford. “This was mailed from somewhere around Westport, but not necessarily the winery.”
“What if it’s someone at the winery? One of the vineyard hands or the warehouse workers? What if we sent our son home to work alongside a lunatic?”
“He’s not after Charlie.”
“How do you know? You’ve screwed over so many people. You have no idea who this is. Do you?” Elizabeth shook with anger as she spoke, her arms lashing, her body overflowing with energy it couldn’t diffuse.
Charles looked toward the door, imagining that Rosalie could hear every word. He didn’t bother trying to quiet Elizabeth. He looked over the note again instead.
“We need to know who this is,” she said loud enough to be heard throughout.
“What about Sebastian?” He offered, primarily as a distraction so he could have a second to think.
Charles purchased six wineries in just over fifteen years and he’d made lifelong enemies at every one. After each of the first three acquisitions, he’d fired the winemaking staff and replaced them under the guise of quality improvement. In the Connecticut winery, the resulting turmoil was so disruptive, it forced him to replace the entire vineyard crew as well. A half-dozen disgruntled faces flashed to mind, fired before they could become saboteurs. Most would be nearing retirement by now and not a significant threat anymore. A few of the younger ones, fired from their first wine production jobs, might still be in their thirties. Any one of them could have seen enough to know what Charles had done. Once they knew the scheme, following the trail from there would have been easy.
Charles strained to recall a handful of young faces. Their personnel files were in storage in Westport. Charles wished he were there with his son now. He needed to explain the past and shield him from the repercussions that were about to strike.
Chapter Fourteen
Deirdre coasted down Rue de Beauchene and gazed at rows of rigid wooden posts strung together with taut, shiny wires. To her, the layout resembled a maze of overgrown electric fencing. She imagined a confused cow, searching for the path to the barn with scarcely enough room to change direction without being zapped. She chuckled unconsciously until she pictured Henri scolding her for mocking his beloved animals. She stifled a guilty smile as the chateau came into view in the midst of a great field of vines. Set regally on a hill, the chateau was different from the other wineries she’d visited in the last two days. The fields lined with faded brown posts all looked similar, but none boasted a more surreal landscape or a structure as impressive as the forty-foot-high, stone walls of the chateau.
No one at the other wineries admitted knowing the young men she sought despite their conspicuousness; the shy one with his handsome features and limp at such a young age, and Randy with his outrageous persona and hair-band style. Chateau de Piolenc was her last chance, saved for last because it was an embarrassment to its neighbors after being failed by the panel three years in a row. One vintner told her an ignorant American family had bought the chateau and that they wouldn’t last two seasons. The jealousy toward the invading Americans echoed every time the chateau was mentioned.
She’d plodded from winery to winery, asking the same questions, getting the same answers, and all the while ignoring her chattering subconscious. It was buzzing now, telling her that the reunion was near. The chateau was just ten minutes down Rue de Beauchene from the old farmhouse. If she’d started at the farmhouse and searched outward, she’d have been here two days ago, but she wouldn’t have been ready then. She wasn’t sure she was ready now. She wondered how he’d react when he saw her and what Henri would think as he looked on. Certainly Henri could sense her ambivalence. She couldn’t understand herself what brought her here or what he could say to change things, but she had to see him. The wait was over.
Somewhere Henri scowled.
She turned down a long drive that split a vast field of vines. The enormous walls of the chateau loomed higher and higher as she approached. As the drive dipped lower, the fields seemed to stretch for the horizon in every direction. Climbing steadily upward again, the chateau sat prominently on a gentle hill. She stopped in the empty guest parking area, caught her breath, and slipped her heels on. The only people in sight were a couple on the terrace, poised to pounce on any customer that happened by. As she got out of the car, Deirdre assumed she was the first one they’d seen in months. The woman seemed to confirm this by descending the granite stairs even before Deir
dre crossed the parking area.
Deirdre stopped with several feet still between them and said, “Hello.”
The woman on the stairs smiled at her fluid English, a sign that this was the mother of the American family. “Hello. Welcome to Chateau de Piolenc.” The woman’s crisp English made Deirdre yearn for home.
“I wonder if you might help me find a friend. I think he works here.”
“Glad to. What’s your friend’s name?”
“I don’t remember.”
The woman was too kind to comment about the oddity, but her lips turned upward with a suggestion of late-night impropriety. Her stately posture and her daintily clasped hands seemed too elegant to be involved in something so seedy, but her imagination was busily creating a sordid love scene. How that mischievous expression would change with a glimpse into Deirdre’s bizarre reality. For days she’d been bursting to share her secret, but the story was too fantastic to believe. The steamy liaison with two sexy young men, being discovered by her husband, the murder, and then millions of dollars falling from the wall; it was too much to contain and she wished she had a way to unburden her conscience.
She imagined whispering her secret in this woman’s ear. Her face would whiten with shock, her tightly compacted hairdo would unfurl; her eyes would blaze with scandal.
Deirdre said nothing.
The woman stifled a smile and asked Deirdre to describe her friend.
“You’d know him if you saw him. He’s handsome, about six feet tall, late twenties or early thirties, really short hair and he limps, on his right leg, I think.”
The limp registered immediately, but the woman suppressed her reaction. This was his mother for sure.
“Why are you looking for this friend?” The woman was intent on Deirdre’s features now, as if counting the lines around her eyes like rings on a tree.
“I want to tell him I’m moving to New York. I don’t want to just disappear.”
The woman hesitated looking at Deirdre’s face. Her thoughts were as plain as if she’d just said Deirdre was too old for her son. The woman’s eyes dipped toward her wedding ring and then her demeanor relaxed from cold and protective to mildly standoffish.
“Why don’t you come in? You can sample some wine while we chat.”
Deirdre accepted, encouraged by the invitation, until she realized that anyone was welcome to come inside and sample their wines. It was their business.
She followed the woman inside and down a stone corridor to the wood-paneled tasting room. It was empty as Deirdre suspected. There was a long counter with enough tasting stations to serve two dozen patrons, but there wasn’t a single employee in the room.
The far wall was a magnificent glass archway that looked out over the vineyard. The massive window allowed so much light and such a wide perspective that Deirdre felt as if she was standing in the vineyard even though the window was over forty feet away. Looking up, she realized her entire home could fit neatly beneath the wooden timbers of the cathedral ceiling. The stone and glass looked as if they’d been placed a century ago. She marveled at the breathtaking view, momentarily distracted from her purpose.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” the woman asked.
“Quite.”
“I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten my manners. I’m Elizabeth Marston. My husband and I bought the chateau several months back.”
“So you’re the crazy Americans?”
“Seems so.”
“I’m Deirdre. Deirdre Deudon.”
Elizabeth cocked her head. “No relation to Henri Deudon, I hope.”
“He was my husband.”
“I’m so sorry. It must be horrible what you’re going through.”
Deirdre still hadn’t settled on the right way to respond to condolences. And now her interest in this woman’s son was completely inappropriate, although the discovery seemed to lower Elizabeth’s guard. She doubted any mother would connect her son to a murder and a relationship with the widow.
“Thank you. It’s been very difficult,” Deirdre said.
There was a long silence as neither knew quite what to say. Elizabeth walked around behind the bar and set two glasses on the counter. “What kind of wine would you care to try?”
Deirdre was no wine connoisseur and didn’t attempt to hide the fact. She preferred something sweet and light as most occasional wine drinkers do. Elizabeth selected a fruity Chardonnay and poured.
“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my Charles.”
Deirdre sipped and nodded her approval of the light, crisp Chardonnay. “My world turned on its ear overnight. My husband’s brother is taking over the farm… I never would have pictured myself there, but I’ve gotten used to it. The cows, the open fields everywhere you look. I’m really going to miss it.”
“I couldn’t imagine,” Elizabeth said softly. She looked around the room as if inventorying the things she’d miss if she lost the chateau.
“A fresh start will do me good. I miss home. New York, I mean.”
“What will you do?”
In the last few days, Deirdre’s thoughts had been crowded with sorrow for her lost husband and haunted by images from the farmhouse. She hadn’t considered the form her future life might take. “I’m not sure,” she said, wondering to herself what she might do to earn a living. She hadn’t held a regular job in seven years.
“Sounds scary,” Elizabeth soothed.
Deirdre realized she’d been led way off course. Her eyes skimmed over a family photo hanging on the wall. She recognized the woman, the man from the porch, and the young man she was looking for. “What about your son? Is he here?”
“My son?”
Deirdre pointed to the photo and Elizabeth reddened.
“I’d like to see him. Where is he?”
“Tell me you’re not a friend of that Randy creature.”
Creature was a good word for him. He was an animal in every sense of the word. Deirdre wasn’t quite sure what she’d do when she saw him again. The meeting was as much her fault as anyone’s, but the disaster was Randy’s doing. “The crazy-looking guy with long hair and sunglasses?”
“That’s Randy.”
“I only met him because he was with your son.”
“Charlie, his name is Charlie.”
“Is he here?”
“Sorry, dear. He’s gone back home to Massachusetts.”
“Why Massachusetts?”
“He was visiting. We have a vineyard in Westport and Charlie is going to run it someday soon.”
Deirdre had never heard of Westport, Massachusetts, and after the overwhelming scale of the chateau, she couldn’t imagine they owned more than one winery. “You have two wineries?”
Elizabeth re-corked the bottle and returned it to the shelf under the bar. “Seven actually, but the rest are nothing like this. They’re farms, probably similar to the farm you live on.”
Deirdre couldn’t imagine that was true. She studied the timbers behind the bar as Mrs. Marston continued.
“Charlie just graduated with a master’s degree in viticulture and enology.” Elizabeth recognized that the terms were meaningless to Deirdre as to most people. “That’s grape-growing and winemaking for the rest of us. He’s going to be our master vintner someday.”
“You must be very proud.”
“When he hands me my first grandchild, then I’ll be proud.”
Deirdre could see her tenuous relationship with Henri’s parents beginning all over again with Mrs. Marston. She wondered why Mrs. Marston and the Deudons had this powerful yearning for children. For Henri it had been about continuing the cycle of generations, a desire he repeated often in the early years. Deirdre had given up long before the Deudons. Their pressure and her shame made motherhood a bitter topic and she hurried to change the subject.
“Where is Westport?” Deirdre asked.
“It’s about halfway between Providence and Cape Cod.”
“Is it near the ocean?”
“Oh
, yes. The ocean makes the vineyard a success. The warm water makes the growing season longer and cooler there than anywhere around. Twenty miles further inland the climate is much different.”
Deirdre couldn’t hold back her smile.
“Like the ocean, do you?”
“Love it. Henri preferred the farm to the beach. But I guess he preferred the farm over just about everything. Now that it’s just me, I want to settle someplace right on the ocean so I can walk the beach everyday.”
“Westport’s the place. It’s peaceful in the winter. In the summer, the ocean’s right there, but then everyone wants to be right on top of you.”
“Sounds great.”
“You know, if you’re looking for something to do until you get settled, we’re desperately short-staffed there right now. It’s a chance for you to keep busy, spend some time on the beach and figure out what’s next.”
The idea was enticing
“It’s hard work. Ever worked in a vineyard?” Elizabeth asked.
“No. I grew flowers on our farm, though.”
“Well, if you get to Westport, go to the gift shop and ask for Sebastian. I’ll bet he’ll hire you on the spot. If he doesn’t, tell him I sent you.”
“Charlie will be surprised to see me.”
“I’m guessing he’ll be glad.” Elizabeth smiled over her glass.
Deirdre took a long drink and studied the hillside, surprised by Elizabeth’s invitation. Her mind was spinning with questions she couldn’t ask. Did Elizabeth expect her son to be interested in an older widow? And what did Charlie think of her after what she’d done in that cramped little bedroom? How would he react when he saw her again?
She still wasn’t sure what she wanted from Charlie, but she was going to find out when she got to Westport.
Chapter Fifteen
Stacked like shiny black cordwood, twenty rows deep and over head high, a hundred thousand bottles rested in the cool cellar. Each unique capsule protected its contents ten long years, gently allowing the wine to age and collect character from the yeast. Round bottoms faced the aisle in a crisscross pattern between the solid wooden posts, a mere glimmer of the stacks within.