Wining and Dying

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  Quade was hitting on Naomi again. Didn’t the guy understand the word no?

  Hannah placed a hand on Destiny’s arm. “Chill, girlfriend. Jenna, if you couldn’t tell, my pal here likes Quade a lot.”

  “He’s sort of an egomaniac,” I whispered.

  “Yeah, but he’s hot and talented, and she’s smitten beyond belief.”

  Destiny’s mouth curved up in a smirk. “I’m right here. I can hear you.”

  Hannah giggled. “I’ve encouraged her to ask him out, but she’s nervous about it.” She rubbed Destiny’s shoulder. “Let that confidence perfume you’re wearing do its magic.”

  “Confidence perfume?” I asked.

  “Mm-hm. One of the artisans in the festival is selling it. Smells like honey mixed with heaven.” Hannah gave Destiny a nudge. “Go on. Say, ‘Hi, Quade, want to grab a cup of coffee this week?’”

  Destiny shimmied to her full height, smoothed the sides and fanny of her tight jeans, lifted her noble chin, and threw back her shoulders. “Here goes nothing.”

  “Poor Des,” Hannah said as her friend sashayed off. “She’s been rejected by more guys than any woman deserves. I don’t get it. She’s stunning and sweet. It doesn’t make sense.”

  As Hannah poured a few tasting glasses of wine for Keller and my workshop mates, I watched Destiny make her move. She had sensuous hips that swayed as she walked. Drawing near to Quade, she said something that made him throw back his head and laugh. The move peeved Destiny. No, it had hurt her feelings. She spun around and, fingers pressed to the corners of her eyes, raced past the tasting table and sought a safe haven in the communal room.

  “Blast it,” Hannah muttered. “Jenna, can you man the table while I console her?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Guests started to migrate from the inn to the wine tasting.

  I said to Keller, “C’mon, all hands on deck.” As he helped me pour, I leaned in and said, “Is it the full moon or the impending storm or what? I feel like we’ve been cast in a bad soap opera tonight.”

  Keller didn’t laugh. He was scowling at Quade, who was yet again approaching Naomi.

  Chapter 3

  Tuesdays are my one day off each week, although I’ve been trying to take off every other Friday. Because tourism was the mainstay of Crystal Cove and many visitors planned three-day vacations, the Cookbook Nook stayed open on Mondays.

  Today, with no one in the shop, I’d turned on some classical harp music, rearranged the moveable bookshelves, and set out an array of cookbooks on the main display table, including The Art of French Cooking, as well as Modern Art Desserts, one of my all-time favorite cookbooks, with a picture of a Mondrian-style cake on the front and recipes like Matisse parfait and Kahlo wedding cookie included, and three wine-themed cookbooks: The Art and Science of Wine, The Wine Lover’s Cookbook, and The Art of Making Wine.

  Then I turned my attention to the Art and Wine festival display in the bay window. I’d put it together Saturday, but it needed tweaking. Because we were located in the quaint Fisherman’s Village shopping center that boasted a retro movie theater, wine bar, and shops, we had lots of foot traffic, so the display window always needed to shine.

  So far I’d placed three bottles of wine and faux grapes atop a yellow-and-white-checkered tablecloth. In addition, I’d set out Plating for Gold: A Decade of Dessert Recipes from the World and National Pastry Team Championship. I’d browsed it before installing it into the design. Without a doubt, I would be making chocolate banana caramel crunch soon, even if I had to beg Rhett to guide me through the recipe step by step. I’d also included a couple of the arty salt and pepper shakers and hand-painted ceramic cookie jars that artisans had brought in on consignment to sell this week. My favorite was the adorable cat-themed cookie jar featuring a kitten popping out of the top holding a sprinkled cookie.

  I was unwrapping the final items to insert into the display when Katie—Chef Katie to her staff and fans—emerged from the breezeway connecting the shop to the Nook Café. No chef’s coat, no toque. She was simply dressed in a striped shirtwaist dress. She preferred dresses when she worked in the kitchen. A dress allowed her legs to stay cool. Her curly hair was tied in a messy knot.

  “What are those?” she asked, towering over me.

  I cast aside the butcher paper and blew dust out of the two glasses I’d purchased from Hannah last night. “Aren’t they pretty?” One was gold-and-red-flecked and the other was gold-and-red-striped. Hannah had labeled them companion pieces because the colors were the same. Sunshine spilled through the display window and glinted off the glass.

  “They’re beautiful.” She cocked her head. “Ahem, shouldn’t you be spending time with Rhett though? It’s your day off.”

  “We’re going on a hike this afternoon. He wanted to sleep in. What are you doing here?”

  Katie chortled. “I couldn’t sleep if I tried. I’m so excited about our demonstration day.”

  During the festival, there would be many presentations, from jewelry artisans, plein air painters, vintners, and foodies. The Cookbook Nook was hosting a couple of artsy events, including Chef Katie presenting the Art of Plating Food on Friday. She would focus on dessert.

  “I’m hoping to have an audience of sixty,” she said, “although I know we’ll be competing with the other vendors.”

  In the brochure online, the festival organizers had listed the main events for each day, as well as the smaller events. Many would be conducted on the Pier, a wonderful boardwalk located at the southern end of town filled with shops, eateries, a theater, and games. The majority would occur in Azure Park, the town’s largest outdoor venue, which had a terrific stage fitted with a state-of-the-art sound system. Our mayor was over the moon with excitement by the expected turnout.

  “So many people don’t know how important plating is,” Katie said, miming with her hands. “They don’t know how chefs use squeeze bottles and decorating spoons and spatulas to create designs.” She hugged herself with joy. “It’s going to be delicious fun sharing secrets of the trade.” She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out something wrapped in cellophane and tied with a blue bow. “I almost forgot. I brought you this.” She handed it to me.

  It was filled with tiny cookies. “What are they?”

  “Wine cookies. Aren’t they perfect for this week’s theme?”

  I opened the bag, took out a cookie, and bit into it. “I love the hint of anise.”

  “I’ll be giving them away at the demonstration. Each will have a Nook Café sticker on them so people won’t forget us.”

  “You think of everything.”

  She beamed. “By the way, Keller said he really liked your painting.”

  “And I liked his.”

  “He has a sincere distaste, however, for that guy named Quade. What’s up with—”

  “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!” Pepper Pritchett, dressed in a beaded blue cardigan and trousers, hustled into the shop and skidded to a stop. Her short silver hair was windblown. “I know you’re closed, but I’m hoping you have coffee brewing. My machine is on the blink, and—” Tears sprang from her eyes.

  I scrambled to my feet and hurried to her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she rasped.

  No one said Oh dear repeatedly when nothing was wrong.

  “Katie,” I said, “I have coffee in the back. Pepper, come. Sit.”

  Katie blazed through the drapes to the stockroom, and I ushered Pepper to the vintage kitchen table where we always had a foodie-themed jigsaw puzzle in the works. Often our customers liked to sit and take a moment to lose themselves in a puzzle. This week’s puzzle, in honor of the festival, featured a carafe and a glass of wine and a beautiful cheese board. One hundred pieces. Not too challenging.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, wishing I could smooth Pepper’s hair for her.

  She fitted a corner piece of the puzzle to the unfinished border. “Same old . . .”

  Katie returned
with coffee in a china cup, a packet of creamer and sugar and a spoon on the saucer, and a handful of tissues. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.” Pepper poured the creamer into the cup and stirred then mopped her eyes with a tissue.

  “Pepper, come on, spill,” I said.

  Pepper owned Beaders of Paradise, a beading and craft shop cattycorner from ours. She was an inspired beader and often taught classes. When we’d first met, the day I’d stepped foot in the Cookbook Nook and had decided to change the course of my life, Pepper had barged in, as angry as a rhinoceros, and had verbally assailed me. Over the years, we had made peace and even admittedly liked one another now.

  “Cinnamon,” she whispered. She wasn’t asking for the spice to add to her coffee. Her daughter, Cinnamon, was the chief of police for Crystal Cove, and one of my good friends. When we’d first met, Cinnamon had believed me guilty of murder, but over the years, we’d bonded. Last year she had even temporarily deputized me to help her with a case.

  “What about Cinnamon?” I asked.

  “The baby,” she droned.

  I motioned, encouraging her to continue. Cinnamon had been pregnant but had lost the baby a few months ago.

  Pepper started to hyperventilate.

  “Breathe,” I said. “Cinnamon is okay. She’s coping.” Cinnamon was nothing if not stalwart. She was handling the loss better than anyone could.

  “No, she’s not. She cries a lot.”

  “When you’re around.”

  “Yes.”

  “Sometimes people cry to console the other person.” I wasn’t a therapist, but I’d consulted a shrink after my husband’s death and recalled many of the things she’d said to me. “Is it possible Cinnamon is crying to make you feel better?”

  Pepper’s lashes moistened with tears. She blotted them again with a tissue. “Do you think?”

  “Yes. She and Bucky are going to try again,” I said. Cinnamon had married the most adorable fireman. “And again and again, if necessary.” I felt a laugh burbling up inside me and stifled the urge to say, They like to do it and often. I wouldn’t reveal a pal’s secret. “You will have a grandchild. I promise.”

  Cinnamon did want to have a child. Girl or boy, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to become a mother. Rhett and I had been talking.

  “Oh dear,” Pepper repeated and tears started up again.

  Katie, who looked close to tears herself, sniffed.

  I peered at her. “Would you fetch a bag of wine cookies for Pepper?” I motioned for her to return to the kitchen. We didn’t need everyone collapsing into tears.

  As she bustled off, I petted Pepper’s shoulder. “There, there,” I said. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She didn’t believe me. She wailed.

  • • •

  At half past one, I approached the front door of Rhett’s cabin. It was ajar. A second later, his black Labrador retriever bounded through the opening, down the steps, and nearly knocked me over. “Rook, sit!” I ordered. The dog obeyed. I rubbed him under his chin. He nuzzled my hand with his snout. “No treats. We’re taking a walk.” He rose to all fours and rounded me, sniffing the back pocket of my jeans. “Okay, found me out, you big lug. You can have one.” I handed him a crunchy bone. He downed it merrily.

  Rhett, looking ruggedly handsome in jeans, Pendleton, backpack, and hiking boots, strolled outside, closed and locked the door, and then enveloped me in a hug and kissed me.

  “Mm,” I murmured. “You taste like bacon.”

  “Did you eat?” he asked.

  “A light lunch. You know me. I hate to hike on a full stomach.”

  “How’s Tigger?”

  “At home, with free rein.”

  He clasped my hand, ordered Rook to heel, and we were off. The sun was brilliant in the cloudless sky, but beneath the canopy of trees, the temperature was mild.

  “How’s the house coming along?” he asked.

  “Only the guest room to go. Keller is on track to finish in a few weeks.”

  “He’s done with the master?”

  Once I’d completed the seascape mural behind the king-sized bed, I’d decided that the other walls needed to be more exciting than eggshell white and had opted for a pastel blue. Keller hadn’t balked, though he had lightheartedly said that he wouldn’t redo all the walls in the house.

  “You should come see it,” I said in a come-hither tone.

  He wrapped an arm around me. “How about tonight after the festival kickoff?”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  I broke free and we walked side by side for an hour, drinking in the scent of pines, listening to the various creatures chatter and flit. Occasionally, Rook would wander off but quickly return. He loved his master.

  “How did the workshop go last night?” Rhett asked as we settled on a flat rock near the small lake we frequented when hiking. He pulled a bottle of water from his backpack and filled a small travel bowl with it for Rook, who settled at our feet. Then he withdrew a chocolate-caramel bar. He wiggled it under my nose. “Snack time.”

  “A man after my own heart.”

  Rhett unwrapped the candy, broke it in half, and handed me a portion. I bit into it, loving the ooze of caramel, and followed it with a swig of water.

  “So, the workshop?” he asked.

  “It was good, and I’m pleased with my piece.”

  He tilted his head. “You’re holding back.”

  “Okay, at one point I said to Keller that it felt like we were in a soap opera.”

  “How come?”

  “Quade was hitting on Naomi. Destiny tried to ask Quade on a date, but he rebuffed her. And Sienna and Quade argued. Come to think of it, so did Yardley and Quade.”

  “Okay, hold on. I don’t know most of these people. Start with Quade.”

  I described him and how confrontational he could be. “What do we know about him?” I asked. “Nada. Nothing. He showed up in town and has no history. I mean, c’mon, who is he really?”

  “You don’t like him.”

  “I’m not sure anybody but Destiny does. You know her. The wine tour gal? She’s smitten.”

  “Hey, speaking of her, maybe she could come up with a vineyard venue for the wedding.”

  During the wine tasting after the workshop, I’d texted Rhett about the cancellation. He’d texted back Stay calm.

  “Great thought,” I said. “She knows all the vintners. She could have connections. I’ll have Harmony touch base with her.”

  “In the meantime”—he turned to face me, his expression grim—“we have to discuss something very serious.”

  Emotions caught in my throat. “What?”

  “When am I moving in?”

  We’d agreed to live separately until we married.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I don’t want to wait any longer. I want to wake up beside you every morning.” He ran a finger along my jawline. “I want to see this beautiful face first thing. What do you say?”

  “Yes!” I cried and threw my arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss.

  “Yeah,” he murmured. “I’m crazy about you, too.”

  Chapter 4

  At exactly six p.m., Mayor Zoey Zeller—Z.Z. to her friends—hoisted a microphone and said, “Welcome, everyone, to the Art and Wine Festival Opening Night at the Inn!” Z.Z. was short and squat, but standing next to her lanky, twenty-something son Egan, she appeared even shorter. His father had been equally tall, my aunt had told me.

  “Is everyone warm enough?” Z.Z. asked. “Hopefully, we’ll get to enjoy all of tonight’s festivities before the storm hits. If it hits.”

  Nervous laughter burbled from the attendees.

  The weatherman had reiterated that the quickie in-and-out storm might miss us entirely, but wind was kicking up and clouds were convening in the night sky. I shivered and pulled my shawl tighter.

  About fifty of us were standing on the grassy expanse behind the Crys
tal Cove Inn, which the staff had decorated with glossy banners and twinkling lights. Near the verandah, arranged in a horseshoe, stood tables draped with white tablecloths. Hannah and two other vintners milled behind the one that had been set up for wine tastings. Destiny, there in her capacity as a wine maven and not associated with one particular vintner, stood in front of the table, prepared to chat up each of the wines. In addition, there were a variety of food vendors.

  To the right of the food and drink stations, beneath a white protective awning, stood the seven finalists’ artwork on easels. Artistic spotlights allowed the guests to view the work in detail. Seeing a few people studying my work made me anxious. Did I have thick enough skin to hear a bad critique?

  “This evening is the official start of the festival,” Z.Z. went on. The other opening night events on the Pier, on Buena Vista Boulevard, and at Azure Park would begin concurrently, with others from the mayor’s office making the announcements. “In a half hour, once all the guests have arrived . . .” The guest list for each opening night event was by invitation, although I had seen a few inn guests mingling at ours. Sienna hadn’t roped off the area. “Yardley Alks and her lovely assistant, Naomi Genet, will introduce our artists.” Z.Z. signaled to the women.

  Yardley, braving the cool temperature in a cap-sleeved yellow-and-blue floral sheath, and Naomi, in a long-sleeved pink lacy number, appeared perfectly suited to hostess an art gathering.

  “Are you ready to get this party started?” Z.Z. shouted.

  The crowd cheered.

  “Here we go. Ten, nine, eight . . .”

  Egan joined in. “Seven, six, five . . .”

  Z.Z. had hoped to set off fireworks to mark the occasion, but fire laws in California had become much stricter in the past year. Instead, she had opted for the firing of a starter’s pistol.

  “One.”

  Bang! A similar sound resounded in numerous parts of town. The crowd erupted into applause.

  Bailey, my best friend and colleague at the shop, was standing to my right. She clinked her wineglass to mine. “To your success! This should be fun. I love, love, love having a night out with adults, you in particular.” Bailey adored her nearly one-year-old daughter, but she needed adult stimulation outside of work hours. “Tina is super happy with the extra sitting money.” Tina Gump, a former clerk at the Cookbook Nook, was now attending culinary school and working part-time as a nanny. Bailey sipped her wine. “Mm, loving this. What are you drinking?”