On second thought, better she stayed with him. They deserved each other.
“Besides, he likes being part of the most successful wine family in the valley. He’d never want to leave that behind. It amazes me how much power the Martinelli name still carries here.” Francesca paused. “Even with the problems the winery’s been having the last couple of years. Shockingly inconsistent. And with all those improvements Stephen is undertaking. I can’t imagine what could possibly be going on.”
The sarcasm was thick in her voice. Either she was responsible for the sabotage, or she just enjoyed the situation.
“No ideas at all?”
She brushed aside the question with a wave of her hand. “Either Marvin’s losing his touch and doesn’t know how to manage a vintage anymore, or my mother and brother are making mistakes. It’s as simple as that.”
I looked at her. She really seemed to think it was just someone at Martinelli making mistakes. If she was the one I surprised by the barrels that day, she wasn’t showing it.
“Where were you two days ago?”
“I was in the city in the morning then drove down here. Why? What does that have to do with anything?”
I ignored her questions and considered the timing. She could have driven down early and been in the barrel room with me. “I wouldn’t worry about Martinelli Winery, Francesca.”
“Believe me, I’m not. The Martinelli name still pulls as much weight as it ever did.” Her laughter was shrill. “For example, don’t think for a moment the bit of success you’re enjoying with your little winery would’ve come without the blessing of my family.”
I turned in front of her and brought her to a stop.
Her smile widened. She savored getting to me.
My heart raced, but I plastered a smile on my face and forced myself to relax. “If you come after me, Francesca, or my winery, all bets are off.”
Never losing eye contact, Francesca stepped around me. “I’m not concerned with your modest efforts, Penny, and there are two points you fail to see. One, my mother will do anything to avoid scandal. She will outwardly support me as a show of family solidarity and will stand against me only if there is any proof of the way I acquired this land. Which brings me to point two. Proof, dear Penny. There isn’t any.”
Twenty
WITHOUT a second glance Francesca got in her car and drove away. She was right. It did all come back to proof. She seemed damned sure there wasn’t any. When the sound of her car faded and I felt sure she was gone, I walked back to the padlock and gave it a tug. Locked up tight. I eyed the fence. It was a little over my height, with simple slats. Easy to scale.
When I landed on the other side I made my way down the dirt road. It curved and ended at a trio of buildings, all new and painted a moss green. The winery logo was mounted over the door of the largest building. It was a capital F in the same moss green seated over a capital M in gold patina, and was surprisingly attractive. Damn it. Francesca Martinelli Vineyards. I wondered if Antonia knew how far Francesca had taken this.
The buildings were all locked and I couldn’t get a peek through any of the shuttered windows. I hopped the fence and returned to my car.
Had Todd been looking for evidence? If he’d been able to prove Francesca had cheated Marilyn out of her land, would he have gone to Antonia? Had he taken the job at Martinelli Winery with that in mind?
Between lack of food and adrenaline from my little field trip and conversation with Francesca, I was light-headed. Low blood sugar.
I drove through town, spotted my favorite burger place, pulled into the drive-thru and ordered a well-done burger with extra pickles and grilled onions. I managed to keep the bag closed until I reached the bluff over the Pacific, near the famed cypress tree the town was named after. I settled in to watch the beach while I ate.
The car top was still down and the last of the sun, like liquid warmth, fell over my face. Down on the beach a few people enjoyed the sunset with me. A man and his Labrador ran along the shore, the dog more in the water than out. An elderly couple sat bundled against the breeze, which was chilly if you weren’t moving about. Three kids braved the waves, while their dad watched from shore.
I swam in those same waves when I was their age, but now it was too cold for me. California had sandy beaches, gorgeous weather, palm trees down south and redwoods right up to the shores in the north. But warm water? Forget it.
It was a little before six and the sun had slipped over the horizon. I finished my burger and made my way back down the coast into Cypress Cove, where I turned in to Beauty and the Bean for coffee.
The fragrance of roasting beans, rich and amazingly complex, welcomed me before I’d reached the front door. Barrels of cooling coffee, with exotic names like Coatepec and Ankola, beckoned to me, but I resisted the urge to run my fingers through the glistening beans.
All of the coffees Thomas sold in the gift shop and coffee bar were shade-grown organic. They used the same coffee next door in the restaurant. Rain forests weren’t cut down. Songbird habitats were saved. Virtue and vitality in a recycled paper cup.
The restaurant was accessible from the coffee bar through an arched open area. Diners were enjoying their meals. Thomas waved as he went by with a tray and from somewhere in the restaurant I heard Ross laugh.
While the restaurant was open and spacious, the gift shop and coffee bar was cute and cluttered, a place sprites would feel at home. Everything looked fragile, delicate and surreal. Connor breaks out in a sweat any time he comes into the gift shop. He says he feels claustrophobic, but I think it’s the hugs Ross and Thomas insist on giving him.
To my right was a grouping of my latest prints. Some were inserted into frames. Nearby a bowl carried the same prints, but reprinted as postcards. I absently picked up the top postcard. I remembered taking the picture last autumn. It was a shot of my vineyard, although, at the time, it had still belonged to Aunt Monique. What a turn my life had taken in one short year.
I returned the postcard and walked to the coffee bar counter to study the daily coffee list, with just a quick peek at the dessert display.
Behind the case the top of Joanne’s head appeared. She spotted me through the glass and waved over the fruit tarts she was arranging in the case. She stood and smiled, but she looked pale. She wore an emerald green dress, and with her masses of red hair and ethereal beauty, she could have been a sprite herself.
“Hi, Penny. I heard you went to see Marilyn today. She said she enjoyed the visit. Of course, anyone who likes Dollie is okay in her book.”
“I liked both of them too. Can we sit for a minute?”
“Sure. Coffee?”
“I’d love one. You too. My treat.”
I sat at one of the tables and Joanne joined me, two steaming cups in hand.
“Did Marilyn tell you anything helpful?” Joanne asked. “You know, about Todd.”
“She told me the entire story about how she lost her land to Francesca.”
Joanne nodded. “Todd wanted to let it go, more than Marilyn. He hated what it was doing to his mom and wouldn’t let her risk her home to fight Francesca in court.”
“They seemed really close.”
“Oh, they were. Todd and Marilyn spent a lot of years alone.”
“What happened to his dad?”
“Car accident. Years ago. Todd always talked about how great his childhood was before that. His dad was adopted, and Todd said family was really important to him.” Joanne slapped her forehead. “Oh! I’m sorry. Ross and Thomas told me about the attack. How you are feeling?”
I rubbed the back of my head. “Lucky, I guess. Just a quick trip to the hospital. If the bottle hadn’t been wrapped, it could have been worse.”
The hospital reminded me of Brice. “I know Chantal and Todd talked. Do you know if she ever mentioned her relationship with Brice?”
Joanne’s eyes grew wide. “Chantal and Brice? I’ve never heard anything, and if Todd knew I think he would have said something.” She paused. “He did know she was seeing someone who was putting her in a tailspin, though, so it sort of makes sense if you think about it. Guys like Brice dream of girls like that. He’d be especially bad for Chantal, you know, because of her problems.”
“Her drug problems?”
Joanne nodded.
I thought of the missing prescriptions in the pad in Brice’s desk. “Did you think he could ever have given her anything?”
Joanne looked away and took a deep breath. “I’m not sure about this . . .”
“Joanne, someone was determined to keep Todd quiet. If Todd knew something, don’t you think you ought to tell me what it was?”
She pulled her gaze back to me. “I just don’t see how it will help, and I don’t want to hurt innocent people.”
“You need to tell me what you know. Someone out there isn’t that concerned about people getting hurt.”
“Including you. Getting hurt, I mean. That could be why you were attacked. Someone sees you as a threat too.”
“Believe me, I’ve thought of that. What happened with Chantal?”
“A few weeks ago she was out of control one afternoon in the tasting room. Singing, twirling around on the bar stools, that kind of thing.”
“Was she drunk?”
Joanne shrugged. “If she was, she came in that way. Todd never gave her anything to drink. I was there, waiting for Todd to get off work. Stephen was there too, and he didn’t want anyone else from the family to see her that way.”
“‘Anyone’ meaning Antonia.”
Joanne nodded. “Everyone knew if Chantal fell off the wagon again, it was back to the clinic for her. She hates it there and her brother knows it. He grabbed her around the waist and sort of half carried, half dragged her around to the back, where he had his car. I remember she dropped her bag when Stephen picked her up. Stephen had his back to us, but Todd and I picked everything up. There must have been ten prescription bottles that fell out.”
A couple came into the shop. Joanne stood to return to the counter. “When I asked Todd later what all of the prescriptions were for, he said they looked like sedatives. He didn’t elaborate. I didn’t mention it again and sort of forgot about it, but when I thought of his reaction later, about the way he answered, I think it really bothered him. He didn’t say anything else, but I remember him being distracted for the rest of the day.”
Joanne glanced at the couple standing at the counter, ready to order.
“One more quick question?”
She gave me a small smile. “I know what you’re going to ask. I didn’t read the labels, but I bet Todd did. Did Chantal get those pills from Brice?”
Twenty-one
I LEFT Joanne and drove to Martinelli Winery. Chantal could have taken prescriptions out of Brice’s pad and forged his signature. She’d have access if they were spending that much time together. Or Brice could have written them for her and, as a precaution, removed the prescriptions in random order. Then if it was ever discovered, he could always claim Chantal had taken them.
If he’d given her the prescriptions, it was possible she wasn’t the only one. Brice might have supplied all his girlfriends with pharmaceutical party favors. Francesca said Brice had expensive hobbies. Was dabbling in drugs one of them? Or he could have been selling them to help finance his other hobbies. Did Todd ask him straight out about Chantal? I was full up on questions. Now I needed a few answers.
The fog had begun to creep in from the coast. It swirled around my car and I turned on my lights, though it was still early. I was glad to see it, as it would keep the heat from the earlier sun close to the ground. This time of year the clear, cloudless nights were the ones to worry about. They could bring an early frost and ruin an entire harvest.
I parked out in front and took a few minutes to snap the car roof in place. The evening was quiet around me as I walked to the front doors, with only the crunch of gravel under my feet and the whirl of the fans from the fermentation building in the background.
The police tape was gone and there was a light in the winery office. I didn’t see Marvin at the desk, and wondered again how much he’d seen from that window.
In less than a day the festival would begin. I couldn’t see through the fog to the festival grounds, but there was a halo from lights in the clearing and voices echoed as I made my way up the steps. I’d just begun to knock when Stephen opened the door.
“Oh, hello. Mother said you were stopping by. She’s in the library. Go on in.”
As I stepped into the hall, Stephen went out into the night and closed the door behind him.
I walked through the doors to my left, once again in that beautiful room with the peach walls that now glowed by firelight. The scent of freshly cut roses hung in the air.
Antonia sat next to the fireplace. One hand rested on the reading glasses I hadn’t known she needed. She glanced up, pulled the glasses off and tucked them into her sleeve.
“Don’t hover over there. Close the door. I don’t want us overheard or disturbed.” She waved me over with the newspaper she’d been reading.
“Hello, Antonia. How are you?” I didn’t really expect a greeting in return. Good thing because she plunged right in, shaking the papers in her hand.
“Do you know what this is?”
I glanced at it. A copy of the industry newsletter, the Winery Review.
Her hands shook as she crumpled the pages. “It’s tripe, that’s what it is. The reviews of our last vintage.”
She threw the paper into the fire and quoted from memory, “‘The acid is too high, the finish much too short, and the oak overpowering.’ I can’t understand it.”
After a long pause, she turned to me. “If I were to be honest, the worst part is they’re right. I wanted to turn the winery over to Stephen officially this Saturday at the festival—he’s worked hard to prove himself—but with reviews like this, I don’t know if I can.”
“Things happen—”
“What things happen? Specifics, Penelope.”
“The problem isn’t Stephen—”
“The only thing I’ve changed is giving Stephen more responsibility. If this isn’t sabotage, then he clearly isn’t ready for the job.”
“Someone has been—”
Antonia shook her head. “Who?”
“Antonia, stop! I’m trying to tell you something and you just won’t listen. You have the reputation of being impossible, and I’ve got to tell you, it’s well deserved.”
To my surprise, Antonia didn’t respond. She sat there and watched the paper burn in the fire, her only movement the palm of her hand as it cradled the silver handle of her cane.
Finally, she turned to me. “Well? I’m listening, and I don’t hear a whole lot.”
Right. I ticked through what I’d found: the person in the fermenting building with the yeast, the jewelry Marvin tried to sell, the missing prescriptions in Brice’s office and Francesca’s anger at Stephen’s inheritance. I told Antonia everything except how Francesca had forced Marilyn to sell her the land. I didn’t know how I would solve that one, but for now I’d keep the deal with Francesca.
The only difficult part was telling her about Chantal and Brice. It wasn’t easy to watch her face register that her younger daughter was sleeping with her older daughter’s husband. The pain she felt over Chantal was evident in the glisten in her eyes. It was possible Todd had discovered this and confronted Brice, but either way, Antonia needed to know the source of so many of Chantal’s problems.
I spoke at length, the chiming of the grandfather clock letting us know when it reached eight. The sound echoed through the room. It was only when it stopped that a soft knock was heard at the door. When Veronica stuck her head in, apologetic
ally asking if we wanted tea, Antonia waved her away with a flick of her hand.
Veronica disappeared.
“So basically you’re telling me my son is incompetent, my older daughter petty and vicious and my son-in-law has been cheating on his wife with my other daughter, not to mention possibly giving her drugs.” She gave me a small smile. “What? Nothing to add about my daughter-in-law? No, I don’t suppose you need to. I know she’s a ninny.”
Antonia paused. “I’m a realist. I know my children. I love them, but I know who they are. They’re impossible, all of them. I didn’t spend the time with them I should have. I realize that now.” Antonia twisted her cane. “There’s something else. I don’t know if you remember my husband, Fiorentino.”
I shook my head. “I was too young.”
“He died shortly after Chantal was born.”
“He was still young,” I said. “What did he die from?”
“Heart attack.” She paused. “Not much older than you when it happened.”
“I’m sorry.” It felt unnatural to offer condolences for someone lost so long ago, and Antonia dismissed my condolences with a quick wave of her hand.
“We were wholly unsuited for each other. He wasn’t a particularly nice man. Unreliable as a husband. A lot like Brice, now that I think about it. However, my father liked him, which was important. I needed help with the winery, and my father didn’t have anyone else to leave it to, which was a problem. He didn’t want to leave it to me to begin with, truth be told. My being a girl, his only child, was something he could never forgive.” She shrugged. “It was a different world back then. My father made me promise to leave it to one child. The battles he had with his brother over it tore the family apart.”
“Did you keep your maiden name?” I asked.
“No. That just wasn’t done back then, but shortly after he passed I changed it back to Martinelli. The children were so young I changed their names as well.”
One Foot in the Grape Page 16