Decanting a Murder

by Nadine Nettmann

  I took one step and nearly fell, my ankles collapsing in the heels. I kicked them off and ran after Jeff, my quick stride catching up to him.

  When we reached the stone winery, Jeff took the first step inside the open door as I followed, my heart beating through my chest with adrenaline.

  Large wooden fermentation tanks dominated the two-story building. At the far side was a labeling machine and a bottling machine where bottles would line up in the spring, waiting for their chance to be filled with wine. Closer to me was the pneumatic wine press, a substantial silver machine with a rounded top where grapes were pressed. Everything looked ready but paused in time, anticipating the work day to come.

  A female caterer with black pants and a white apron stood with her fingers in front of her mouth, her face vacant of color, and her eyes wide. There was an overturned tray at her feet. I followed her gaze to the first fermentation tank, most likely filled with the Pinot Noir that had just been harvested.

  There was nothing unique about it. In fact, it looked the same as nearly every other wooden fermentation tank I had seen in numerous wineries over the years, except for a splash of red wine on the concrete beneath the tank. Nothing to make someone scream and drop a tray.

  That’s when I saw the arm.

  It was hard to see at first, caught between the lid and the opening at the top of the tank, but once I noticed it, I couldn’t focus on anything else. Jeff must have seen it at the same time, for he sprinted toward the tank. I ran behind him, my eyes focused on the arm as I approached, everything moving in slow motion.

  Jeff grabbed the rolling stepladder and pushed it against the tank. I gripped the rails at the bottom as Jeff rushed up the steps.

  I stared up at the arm, its white sleeve stained purple halfway down from the juice of the grapes, the strong male fingers slightly curled, a thin gold band on the ring finger.

  Jeff tugged at the arm as the back of a man’s head popped into view.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed.

  Jeff pulled again, his hands now underneath the shoulders of the man.

  I tried to help, but my feet were cemented to the ground. I could only watch as Jeff struggled with the weight.

  “Do … Do you need help?” I managed to ask.

  Jeff grunted and tried again, lifting the body all the way up as wine and grape skins poured onto the winery floor.

  The man’s feet were caught in the opening and Jeff nearly tumbled down the steps as he readjusted his grasp. He yanked again and the feet came free.

  I stepped back as Jeff brought the man down the stairs and laid him on the floor, red wine spreading like snakes on the concrete.

  He leaned over the man’s face, forcing his breath into his mouth, before pressing on his chest with sharp, sudden movements.

  I kneeled at the man’s side. “You breathe, I’ll pump.” I put my hands on his cold chest and counted as I had done in my long ago CPR class. A chill crept into my fingers, the absence of warmth underneath them.

  “He’s cold. I don’t think he’s coming back.” I stopped pumping and picked up the man’s wrist. The veins were lifeless, the chance of a pulse long gone. “It’s no use.”

  Jeff leaned over the man and breathed into him.

  “Jeff, it’s no good. There’s no pulse and he’s cold.”

  Jeff sat back on his knees and I finally saw the man whose face stared blankly at the ceiling.

  It was Mark.

  five

  pairing suggestion: gewürztraminer—alsace, france

  A highly aromatic wine to ignite your senses.

  -

  The nighttime Napa breeze added a chill to the air and I rubbed my arms for warmth as I stood guard. The winery door behind me was closed, a preventative measure after Jeff called 911, and all other doors had been locked before he headed to the driveway to wait for the police.

  More than once I had to turn away guests who possessed a morbid curiosity. The crime scene needed to remain intact, apart from what we had done in an effort to revive Mark. I winced at the evidence we might have disturbed.

  “I guess I should tell any guests still arriving to go home, huh? Not going to be much of a party now.”

  I turned to the voice, finding Seb next to me. His eyes darted back and forth from the driveway to the lawn, an intense nervous energy that I hadn’t noticed when he came to the table earlier. Then again, maybe I had. Everything was distorted.

  “No, the party is definitely over. The police should be here any minute and I’m sure they’ll want to interview everyone who was here.”

  The entire winery was masked in a serene calm as caterers, staff, and guests sat at the tables on the lawn, barely moving.

  “Some people, um, already left.”

  “That’s not good. But I’m sure Tessa has a list of everyone who was here.” I looked at Seb. “Do you know where Tessa is? I haven’t seen her since before this whole mess started.”

  “Um, no.” Seb shifted back and forth next to me. “Now is the time to drink, huh? But the caterers aren’t pouring anymore.”

  “You work here, I’m sure you can grab a bottle. If you really need it.”

  “Not. Worth. It.” Seb walked toward the offices, a slight sway to his gait. I wasn’t sure how much he had drunk in the short time of the party or beforehand, but the sway could be the situation and not alcohol-induced. Death can do strange things to people.

  Two squad cars raced up the driveway, the flashing lights disturbing the static atmosphere, spilling blue and red colors into the night sky.

  They illuminated Jeff’s silhouette, his arms motioning toward the winery. The cars came to a stop ten feet from me.

  A sheriff’s deputy exited the first car and said a few words to Jeff before the two of them headed toward me.

  “Body in here?” said the deputy as he reached the doorframe.

  “Yes.” I opened the door and the deputy stepped inside. Jeff followed him and I noticed the wine stains on his clothes had turned dark blue.

  Two more sheriff’s deputies walked into the winery followed by one in a suit, his blond hair slicked back from his face. He started writing in a notebook as he crouched in front of the body.

  “Has it been moved?” he asked as he stood up, only slightly shorter than Jeff, but with a solid stance.

  “He was in the fermentation tank and I pulled him out, thinking I could save him. Unfortunately, he was already gone,” said Jeff as he rubbed his forehead. His strong shoulders slouched over as if they carried the weight of the world.

  I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe as the deputies stood over Mark’s lifeless body, his arms splayed out to the side, his clothes soaked with purpled wine and dotted with grape skins.

  “How was the body found? In here?” The blond deputy motioned to the first tank.

  “Yes,” I said from the doorway. “With only his arm sticking out.”

  “Join us,” said the deputy as he scribbled on his notepad. “I’m Detective Dean, the officer in charge of this investigation. Why are you barefoot?”

  I looked down, my red nail polish contrasting with the blue coldness of my toes as I approached. “I kicked off my shoes when I ran. They’re outside.”

  “Okay,” he said. “What brought you in here to find the victim?” He was in his midthirties and wore a gold badge on his belt, which glinted in the winery lights.

  “The scream,” I replied as two additional officers and a lady whose jacket had Coroner on it walked past me and joined the group. “A caterer screamed.”

  “Katie and I were together at the party and we heard the scream. We both ran in here and once I saw the arm, I ran up the steps.” Jeff re-enacted the scene, climbing up the stepladder. “I grabbed his arm and pulled him up here.” He pointed to the top of the tank. “As soon as I got him, I brought him to the
floor and attempted to revive him.”

  “Watch where you’re stepping,” said Detective Dean.

  “My footprints and fingerprints will be all over here anyway. I work here, and in trying to get him out …” His voice trailed off.

  Dean kept his focus on Jeff’s shoes as Jeff stepped back over to me. My dad had the same intensity when working on a case, the subject occupying every moment of his life, a smile never crossing his face until it was solved.

  My attention drifted to Mark’s vacant eyes, his open mouth, and his pale white skin. The sight wouldn’t have fazed my dad—just another dead body to add to the uncountable list that he had seen in his career—but for me, it was only the second one I had seen. Two more than I ever needed to see. My stomach turned. “Can I go back outside for some fresh air?”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” said Jeff. “I can answer any questions. We were both in here together.”

  “Yes, but stay near. I’ll want to get your statement later,” said Dean, his attention still on his notepad.

  I nodded and walked outside to the corner of the lawn, the balls of my feet sinking into the damp grass.

  Loud sobs from the offices drifted on the breeze with a sadness that sent chills across my neck. The sounds were hollow, a loved one dealing with the first moments of grief, unable to grasp the situation.

  It would only get worse as the night wore on. I knew that people could sometimes live in denial for days, even weeks, but emotions eventually surfaced to hit them like a smack in the face. When my mother passed away, denial wore off more quickly than I would have liked.

  It was now eight thirty and Tessa had been gone more than an hour. I needed to find her. And my shoes. I approached the group of tables, glancing at each person as I passed by, but every face in front of me was a stranger.

  The black heels I had kicked off lay between two tables. I slipped them back on, the hard leather a surprising comfort and relief from the cold ground.

  Alan sat alone at the last table, cowboy hat in his hands and his face expressionless as he stared at the lawn near his feet.

  I approached him with a wobble as the heels sunk into the grass. “Alan? Have you seen Tessa?”

  Alan looked up at me, his eyes full of sadness. He shook his head and returned his gaze to the ground in front of him.

  I needed to reach Tessa. I needed to call her. I headed across the lawn to the driveway, frustrated that I hadn’t thought of phoning Tessa sooner. Maybe that’s why I had failed my exam. I ignored obvious answers.

  A black Jaguar had parked too close to my car but I managed to squeeze through and get my door open a few inches to grab my cell.

  I returned to the edge of the lawn and called Tessa as one of the deputies gathered the caterers together in a group.

  The phone rang three times. “You’ve reached Tessa. Leave a message and maybe I’ll call you back.”

  “Tessa, where are you? Something happened and I can’t find you. Call me back.” I hung up and tried again. The result was the same. I cancelled the call before the message ended and sent a text. Call me. ASAP.

  “Attention,” demanded Dean, now standing outside the winery door. He was flanked by two additional deputies.

  I approached the back of the crowd.

  “I need to have everyone’s name and if you saw anything that seemed strange or off tonight. You can tell me or Deputy Peters or Deputy Blake, but no one leaves until you’ve checked in with us.”

  Several lines formed with caterers and guests eager to leave the winery. I joined the back of one line as I scanned the property in search of Tessa. I tried her again, knowing it wouldn’t work but needing to do something.

  “Next.”

  I looked up to see a large gap between me and Dean. I stepped forward.

  “Name?” Dean stared at the notebook in his hands, ready to write.

  “Katie Stillwell, I’m a guest …”

  “Stillwell,” Dean interrupted as his blue eyes rose from his notes and met mine. “Any relation to LAPD Chief Gary Stillwell?”

  “Yes. He’s my father.”

  “Well, what do you know. You a cop as well?” His demeanor softened, as did my father’s when he met another member of law enforcement.

  “No, a sommelier.”

  “What?”

  “A sommelier. Basically, a wine expert.”

  Dean’s rigid posture returned and his left hand scribbled notes. “Were you working this event?”

  “No, I’m here as a guest. My friend—”

  He cut me off. “What’s her name?”

  “Tessa Blakely.”

  More scribbling, his eyes never leaving the paper. “Where is she?”

  “That’s the thing, I don’t know where she is.” My stomach tensed.

  “When did you last see her?” Small creases formed in his cheeks as he talked.

  “During the party, but a while ago. Before everything happened here.”

  “Do you think she’s still on the property?”

  “I don’t know what to think. She’s been gone a long time, it’s not like her.” I motioned to the sheriff’s cars. “Especially with all this. I’m sure she’d be out here watching.” I kept back the fact that Tessa had a thing for cops and wouldn’t miss an opportunity to flirt.

  “We’ll find her. What is her affiliation with the victim?”

  “She works here, in charge of the wine club.”

  “Let us know if you hear from her and we’ll keep an eye out.” He continued to write. “Did you notice anything else tonight, aside from your missing friend, that seemed strange?”

  I shook my head.

  “Address and phone number?”

  When I finished giving Dean my contact information, he looked past me, his attention focused on the next person. “Name?”

  I stepped away from the group and tried Tessa’s cell phone again. It went straight to voicemail this time. I needed somewhere quiet where I could gather my thoughts away from all the commotion. My car would be ideal.

  I returned to the driveway but stopped several feet away from my car. It hadn’t registered before, but when I first arrived at Frontier, Tessa’s silver Nissan had been in the space next to mine; now it was occupied by the black Jaguar. A tingling sensation shot across my scalp.

  “Dean, we found something,” a deputy echoed from the winery door.

  “You okay?” said a voice close to me, causing me to jump. Jeff stood nearby, his brown jacket pulled together, hiding his stained shirt.

  “No.” My voice was weak.

  “Are you cold?” He slipped off his jacket and put it around my shoulders.

  I moved my head in a diagonal manner, neither up and down nor side to side. “Tessa’s missing. I haven’t seen her since I talked with you earlier and I don’t know where she is.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine.” Jeff rubbed the sides of my arms in an effort to warm me up, but the cold chill remained. “She’s probably getting more wine from the cellar.”

  “No. Her car’s gone. It was parked right there.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe she moved it? Or maybe valet took care of it.”

  I looked across at the three valet attendants on the far curve of the driveway. “I don’t know. That doesn’t seem right.”

  “Here, let me check for you. She drives a silver Sentra, right?”

  “I think so. Yes.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.” Jeff jogged down to the attendants and spoke with them, his hands motioning back at me.

  The attendant inspected the tag of each key on the white valet key board and shook his head.

  Jeff ran back to me. “They haven’t seen her car.”

  “Katie Stillwell,” Dean’s booming voice came across the lawn.

  “Yes?” My voice came out a
s a whisper. “Yes?” This time it had more confidence.

  “Come here, please.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Jeff.

  “No, it’s okay.” I approached the winery, meeting Dean at the door.

  “There’s something we want you to see.” Dean lifted up the yellow crime scene tape that had been placed across the entrance.

  I ducked under it and entered the winery. Officials milled around inside, dusting for fingerprints, taking photos, and making notes.

  Mark’s body had been covered with a white sheet but the fingers of his right hand stuck out from underneath in a deathly curl.

  “Flip him over again,” said Dean.

  Deputy Peters pulled off the sheet and turned over the body.

  “Recognize it?”

  I stepped forward, swallowing hard. “Recognize what?”

  “Look closer,” he pressed.

  Firmly placed in Mark’s back was a small knife attached to a wine opener.

  “It’s a wine opener.”

  Detective Dean kept his focus on the body. “Yes, but you can identify its owner.”

  “Me?” I tried to meet Dean’s eyes but he wouldn’t make eye contact. “Why?”

  “Take a closer look.”

  I crouched down. My eyes traced the polished wood of the opener until I reached the engraved name of Tessa B. “Yes.” I stood up and faced Dean. “It’s Tessa’s.”

  Dean removed his black notebook from his pocket. “When exactly did you last see Tessa?”

  “Around seven thirty. Or maybe it was just after. She said she had to run an errand or something and that she would be back.” I twisted my hands around each other.

  “Where were you?”

  “Near the tables and she headed up the lawn, but then I was distracted and when I looked back, she was gone.” My eyes drifted to Mark’s body as the deputy covered it back up with the sheet. “Also, her car is missing. I mean, she might have moved it, but—”

  “But?” he interrupted, his eyes still on his notebook.

  “She’s not answering her cell phone.” The words tasted dry as I said them.