One Foot in the Grape

by Carlene O'Neil

  * * *

  I woke with a start, hot and damp. The last of my dreams swirled around my head in the darkness. I lay back against the pillows, lifted the damp hair off my neck and kicked the quilt off. Nanook’s steady breathing next to the couch calmed me, and I tried to remember. I’d touched on something in my unconsciousness. I could recall the significance, but not the details. It moved just ahead of me, pulling away from my mental probing, like a sensitive nerve.

  I struggled to remember until the last of the night air chilled me. The fire had died to embers. I rose, stepped over Nanook and reached for another log. If I relaxed, it would come in its own time.

  That, of course, was the problem. I had the feeling I was low on time and that someone even now was awake elsewhere, equally determined to keep the secrets safe in the dark. How would they feel right now? It was difficult enough to find the body. To kill someone and try to move on as before was beyond my comprehension. I closed the fireplace screen and made my way into the kitchen.

  The predawn was spectacular, vivid pink folded into azure blue. Puffy white clouds spun in from the sea as though pushed along by an invisible hand. I fed Syrah, made a pot of tea, then grabbed the quilt from the couch and padded out onto the deck with Nanook.

  The hillsides looked purple in the early light, and I breathed in the soft morning air. Sweet and earthy, the smell of a vineyard when the grapes were ready for harvest was unlike any other. Mix it with equal parts clean ocean breeze and deep rich soil, and you have the best fragrance on earth.

  I curled up on the deck chair and started picking again at the unconscious thread that drove me out there. Watching the pink of the early morning fade away, I knew it was close. I could almost see it in the colors of the sky. The colors. The colors . . .

  “Couldn’t sleep?” Connor asked from behind me.

  I looked up. “Not my best night. Thanks for offering to come get me, and also for the escort home.”

  “You okay?”

  “Not really, to be honest. It’s going to take a while.”

  Connor sat next to me. “What do you do now?”

  “Now”—I took a deep breath—“I spend the day as the owner of Joyeux Winery and a participant in the Autumn Festival.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear. I hope you’re able to enjoy this. We’re in good shape, all set up at the booth, but I still want to be there early. I’m not sure what to expect from the crowds and I don’t want Hayley there alone. She’s already on her way. Want to ride with me?”

  “I’ll take my car. I want to walk Nanook first.” I finished off my tea and stood, resolutely pushing from my mind the unanswered questions in my head.

  Still, as I turned to the kitchen, I shot one last look above me and could almost see the answer written in the vivid hues of the morning sky.

  Twenty-five

  “MAYBE I’ll wrap some more Zinfandel.” Hayley turned around so I could tie her apron, patterned with grapes and emblazoned with the winery logo. Under it she wore a purple maiden dress that laced in the front and complemented her lithe figure. My attire consisted of one of our winery sweatshirts and clean jeans. All things considered, I thought I looked pretty good.

  I counted the brightly wrapped bottles on the front counter. “It looks like there are plenty. Maybe we can do a few more Cabernet, though.”

  Hayley scooped up the wrapping paper, walked to the back table and moved the postcards and posters I’d brought. She picked up a postcard, once again featuring Martinelli Winery. I’d shot it at a different angle exactly one year ago during last year’s festival. It showed the house, winery office and fermentation building with the festival and valley in the foreground.

  “This is my favorite.” Hayley walked to the front of the booth with the photo and looked up at Martinelli Winery. “The house has a medieval look to it, with the circular towers in front. When you add the festival tents, it looks right out of the middle ages.”

  I took the postcard from her. I couldn’t see Marvin, but I could imagine him sitting at the window that day, in the same spot where I’d found him. The place where he never missed anything, and where someone else hadn’t missed the chance to kill him.

  I shivered in the early morning air, feeling like the one who’d missed something. I stared harder at the picture and again the answers danced just beyond my grasp. There was something there and I knew with absolute certainty I was looking at it.

  My view of the postcard was blocked by a steel mesh glove holding a foaming cup.

  “A tall latte for the fair festival maiden.”

  Ross was decked out as King Arthur. His steel mesh glove rattled as he handed me the cup.

  “How are you going to cook in that outfit? You’ll suffocate.”

  Ross gave a shake of his head, the jewels of his crown bright in the morning sun.

  “The food is prepared for the morning stretch and my staff can manage the counter for now. Later I’ll take this off for the afternoon rush and let Thomas work the crowd. He’s around here somewhere. Look for the fool.”

  Hayley looked up from the bottles she was wrapping. “That’s a bit harsh. You two having a tiff?”

  “No, I mean really look for the fool. He has two outfits. One is the knight you saw the other day and this one is a fool, as in the town jester. It’s his morning outfit. Although, I must say, perfect casting.”

  “If you hadn’t brought me this latte, I might have been tempted to tell him you said that.”

  “Tell who what?” The fool in question came up beside Ross, looking foolish indeed in a yellow and red tunic, tights and a multipointed hat tipped with bells.

  “Nice tights.” Only gay men were manly enough to brave tights in public. Go figure.

  “Actually, I’m partial to the shoes.” He tapped his heels together. Curving up to his shins, the bell-tipped toes gave off a delightful sound.

  The jingle of bells was joined by the blast of trumpets as the main gates opened. The early arrivals moved as a group to the coffee and food booths. In minutes the crowd around the Sterling booth was three people thick. I stood with Ross and Thomas as their competent staff handled the caffeine-deprived crowd, and soon everyone had that first cup. As we watched they began to head in different directions, some to the arts and crafts booths, while others grabbed seats for the scheduled entertainment of the morning, a joust at ten.

  I threw my cup in the recycle bin as Stephen walked down the path from the winery and paused at the bottom. He shifted the case of wine he carried and took in the festivities. A moment later he strolled to the Martinelli booth and set the case on the counter. The wineries tried to have at least two people in the booths at all times. Most of the wineries were represented by the winery managers, like Connor in our booth. It helped to have someone that worked well with the public. I didn’t remember Marvin ever attending the festival. Todd would have been the obvious choice, given how well liked he was. There was an assistant in the booth now. He spoke briefly with Stephen, ducked under the front counter and strolled into the crowed. Veronica walked up the aisle and nodded at the assistant as she passed him.

  Apparently the request to dress for the occasion didn’t apply to Veronica, who wore a dark gray Saint John knit suit and pearls. She must have driven, because she hadn’t walked down the footpath in that outfit. She smiled at several people in the crowd and skirted into the Martinelli booth.

  Stephen, attired in a beige suit, looked warm in the morning sun. His cheeks were already shiny and pink. He patiently stood while Veronica straightened his tie and smoothed his hair. He reached to kiss her cheek and she smiled at him. They must have seen something in each other the rest of us didn’t. It was sweet. Weird but kind of sweet. Maybe Stephen was right. Maybe their marriage did work for them.

  * * *

  FOR the wineries, the important part of the festival weekend was the tasting compe
tition. It wasn’t a formal affair, where judges sat and tasted all of the competitors at once. Rather, the tasting went on throughout the weekend. Identifiable by the yellow sashes they wore, the judges staggered their tastings throughout the day, at different temperatures and with different foods. This better mimicked the tasting and drinking patterns of the general public who would later rely on the awards when buying wine. As the judges walked down the aisles they were also able to converse with the crowd and get their input as well. The judges were the experts, yes, but their being invited back was dependent on their making crowd-pleasing decisions.

  The morning vanished as I helped Connor and Hayley with tastings and sales in our booth. After several hours, the collective growl of our stomachs sent me out to find lunch. The early afternoon breeze off the ocean swirled the aromas of various foods around me. Everything looked good, from the gourmet pizza to the chocolate-dipped strawberries, but the weekend would be filled with temptation. I settled on a salad of mixed greens, pine nuts, sun-dried tomatoes and goat cheese. I dropped off the requested sausage sandwiches at the booth and went to find a seat in the eating area.

  From my vantage point I was able to watch most of the ongoing entertainment, which at the moment highlighted a band of medieval jugglers. They grabbed people from the crowd and Thomas in his fool outfit was a visible target. Not the shy type, he jumped in to give it a try.

  As I finished my salad, Thomas threw a ring into the crowd and Chantal caught it. She tossed her hair, waved the ring above her head and made her way toward Thomas.

  She looked fetching in a red lady-in-waiting costume. It fit every curve and exposed as much of her ample bosom as possible. Damn, she really got under my skin. Now, though, I could also see her as I found her on the hillside, with her car wedged under the oak and her tearstained cheeks, and I also felt a faint stirring of sympathy. Very faint, but it was there.

  She handed Thomas the ring and awarded him a kiss. She carried bottled water, and I hoped she stayed away from the winery booths. To be part of the most prominent wine family in the valley and be unable to enjoy it seemed unjust in the extreme.

  “Chantal and Thomas. Now, that’s funny.”

  Brice stood so close to the picnic table I couldn’t get up. “Where’s Francesca?”

  “She’s around.” He took a sip of Chardonnay, still staring at Chantal and Thomas. “Look at him. Like he knows what she wants. I could show him what to do with a woman.”

  My stomach turned and I swung my legs away from Brice. As I pushed myself up, Chantal glanced our way. Her smile faded, and she moved deeper into the crowd. She had to live with the memory of sleeping with Brice, and the look on her face showed her regret.

  Seeing how she felt helped my feelings toward her go a long way in a short time. I wouldn’t ever completely let my guard down around her but she was doing the best she could, just like the rest of us. Actually not all of us. I studied the man beside me.

  “Brice, what if these women are addicts? Are you giving them what they want then?”

  Icy blue eyes met mine over the rim of a glass. “If I did, you’ll never prove it. What, do you think I’d write a prescription for her? Make it easy for you?”

  I thought of the missing prescriptions and took a chance. “You were writing them for someone.”

  Brice turned to face me, his hands on his hips. “If you have any accusations to make along those lines, you can share them with my attorney first.”

  “I can do that. And furthermore, I’d enjoy having that conversation with your attorney. Would that happen to be your wife, Chantal’s sister? Or doesn’t she want to handle the cases that involve your girlfriends?”

  Brice turned to me, his mouth open.

  “Surprised? It’s gotten out that you’re keeping it all in the family, just not necessarily in the same bed.”

  Brice tightened his grip on the wineglass. The color faded from his face. “Go to hell, you little bitch.”

  I took in the slicked-back hair, the perfectly fitted clothes, the manicured hands and manufactured tan. I thought of all the women who relied on their doctors in their times of need and vulnerability.

  “Go to hell, Doctor? You first.”

  Twenty-six

  I TURNED on my heel and walked away. Brice’s stare bored through me and I turned into the nearest aisle. The two worst traits to find in people are arrogance and stupidity, and Brice had plenty of both. I closed my eyes, forced myself to breathe and took a look around.

  I was in the arts and crafts section. Some people dismissed this part of the festival as too quaint, but usually it was one of my favorites. I swiveled my neck to let go of the tension and wandered through the homespun yarn booth, with its lamb’s wool in a rainbow of colors. From there I chatted with the honey guy. He specialized in honey-based creams and body lotions, the honey gathered from his own hives. There was everything from jewelry and garden gnomes to pet clothes and bath soaps, but I didn’t buy anything until I came to the Christmas booth. There was a tree covered in glass ornaments shaped like dogs and cats. Annie decorated for the holidays at the vet clinic every year, and I bought two of the ornaments: a tabby and a pug.

  When I returned to our booth I stashed the ornaments under the counter. The look on Connor’s face made it clear he’d witnessed the exchange with Brice. Having Connor put Brice into the hospital as a patient wasn’t in the plan, so I forced a smile.

  He put down the case of wine he carried and moved closer. “Did he threaten you or try to scare you?”

  “No. Nothing like that. I all but accused him of giving drugs to Chantal. He didn’t like that much.”

  “I bet.”

  The tension left my shoulders. It was a new experience, somebody watching out for me. I liked it. A lot.

  A crowd surrounded our booth. “I want to see what they have to say.” Connor nodded, and I slipped back around the counter to listen to the comments. The praise was strong and far outweighed the few unenthusiastic responses. All we needed was the majority to appreciate our efforts. Joyeux Winery was receiving its share of accolades. We were going to be fine. I smiled at Connor and Hayley and received a small wave in return.

  Near the Martinelli booth, Antonia held court with a group of local politicians. It was easy to tell they were politicians because none of them looked directly at her and all of them squirmed. Never shy about what she thought of local policy, it was a reminder once again of the sway she held in this community. Antonia spotted me and stopped midsentence. She sliced between them with her cane like Moses parting the Red Sea and walked over to me.

  “Brice looked upset after your chat with him this morning.” She pounded her cane. “Good.”

  Did everyone see us?

  A wicked grin papered her fine skin with gentle lines.

  “You like my getting to Brice, don’t you?”

  “Of course. Pompous ass. I knew what he was capable of before you confirmed it. He’s just never realized I’ve been on to him from the start. Another mistake, thinking he was getting one over on me. He’s the worst kind of man. I try to let my children make their own decisions, their own mistakes, but he’s the worst mistake my daughter ever made.” She paused. “The worst mistake both of my daughters ever made.”

  Antonia was silent for a moment then stamped her cane and pushed back her shoulders. Her gaze took in the grounds and rested on the Martinelli tent. “Look at that. I understand sometimes crowds ebb and flow, but there isn’t anyone at my booth. That’s never happened in the past, not even momentarily.” She shook her head. “However, at the moment it works to our advantage. Stephen and Veronica are alone. Go talk to them.”

  “You know something? So far my offer to help you has turned into a lot more than I bargained for. I’m not getting ordered around on top of it.”

  Her eyes softened and she rested her hand lightly on my arm. “Please, Penny. I
need your help.”

  I sighed. “Okay. I’ll go see what I can find out.”

  She smiled, and I saw a glimmer of the woman my aunt had called a friend for so many years.

  The festival was packed with people, and by the time I reached the Martinelli tent, both Stephen and Veronica were busy once again pouring tastes. The judges had just been served, and I held out a glass for a sample of what they now held up to the sunlight, checking for a deep burgundy color.

  “Hold on, Penny,” Stephen said. “Time to open up another bottle.”

  Veronica waved from her side of the booth. While I waited for my taste I listened to her inform her audience on the history of Martinelli Winery. Intent on her narrative, she seemed at ease and happier than I’d ever seen her.

  I handed Stephen my glass and watched as he poured. “This is our special reserve Merlot.” He filled several glasses at once. When the crowd had moved on, I stayed put and tasted the wine. The flavor of a wine depended on the variety of the grapes used. In Merlot, the fruit in the wine, reminiscent of black cherries and plums, came through first.

  “Stephen, this is wonderful. You’ve got a winner with this one.”

  He looked up as though surprised to still see me there, and gave a short nod of his head. Mr. Talkative.

  I tilted my head toward his wife and tried again. “Veronica’s in her element. She really knows about the history of the winery.”

  Stephen looked over at Veronica, his face showing the faintest of smiles. “She knows the history of my family better than I do. At this point, she even knows more about wine.”

  As he left me to open more bottles, I joined the crowd around Veronica. A short time later the crowd wandered off and we were alone. Without her audience, Veronica’s nervousness returned. She raised one hand to twirl her pearls and poured from another bottle into my now-empty glass.