by Meg Benjamin
Her father waved his hand impatiently. “We can talk about that later. What about that vineyard site Ciro found—Joe Powell’s pasture?”
“There may be some water problems there. Some of his goats have gotten sick.”
“From drinking the water? When?” Her father leaned forward.
“Just a week or so ago. There was something wrong with his stock tank.”
“Where does he get the water for the tank? Is it ground water or does he bring it in? Are they sure it was the water and not something else?” Her father tapped the table in front of him, eyes bright. “Tell Powell to get a water analysis done before we sign the lease. That way we can see if there are any ongoing problems or if it was a one-time thing.”
Morgan nodded, pushing the hair back from her forehead. “I’ve already suggested that to Ciro. And the police are investigating the whole thing. About the sangiovese and the primitivo, if we could do an early release…”
“Too soon.” Her father shook his head, dismissively. “It won’t be ready for another month at least. Did you talk to DeMarco about that shipment of roussanne grapes from Lubbock?”
“Yes sir.” Morgan moved her stiffening shoulders. She could feel a tension headache starting near her eyes. “They’ll deliver them next month. Daddy, I tasted the sangiovese last week, and it tastes ready to me. Ciro thinks so too.”
Her father looked up at her, frowning. “Morgan, it’s too soon. Believe me, I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have.”
“I know you have, Daddy.” She stared down at the bottles at her feet. Yelling at her father wouldn’t get him to do the release. “But we’re almost out of wine. We may lose the Brenner’s account if we can’t supply them with some more primitivo.”
Her father shrugged. “If we lose them, we lose them. There’ll be other restaurants. That’s better than letting wine go out before it’s ready. We’ve got our reputation to consider.”
There’ll be other restaurants. Morgan took another deep breath, forcing her hands to unclench. “Brenner’s is the most popular restaurant in Konigsburg, Daddy. It gets reviewed in the Austin and San Antonio papers. It’s got a blurb in Texas Monthly. A lot of people come to the winery because they tasted the wines at Brenner’s. And it took us months to get them to put our wine on their list in the first place. We need to keep our wines in there, and to do that we need wine to sell them. It’s the only advertising we’ve got right now.” Seeing as how her father refused to do any advertising directly since the wines could sell themselves.
Her father stared at her in silence for a few moments. “You say you tasted the sangiovese?”
“Yes sir. And the primitivo.”
“And Ciro tasted them, too?”
“Yes, Dad, he did. He thinks they’re ready. I brought a bottle of each one with me.” She picked up the bottles from the floor. “Would you taste them for me, please?”
“What exactly did Ciro say?”
She tried not to sigh. Of course, he trusted Ciro’s judgment more than hers. Ciro had been in the business as long as her father had. So why not let Ciro make the decision? “He thinks they’re good.”
Her father leaned back in his chair, staring at the bottles in front of him. “That’s how we used to do it, you know. Me and Ciro, sometimes Carmen. We’d sit down and try two or three bottles, figure out if it was right yet. If we needed to try a different blend. It’s all a matter of taste, you know. You can’t do it by machine.”
Morgan pushed her lips into a smile. Ciro and Carmen would never do that with her, or if they did, they’d never listen to her opinion. Why should they? Even her own father didn’t trust her judgment. “Yes, Dad, I know. And your palate is better than anyone’s. But we really need this wine now.”
Her father sighed. “Pour me a sample of each, then. But I’m not making any promises.”
The ache that had begun in her throat eased slightly. “No, Dad, I know you’re not. Just give it a try.”
Leila Barrett arrived at her husband’s house, which had once been her house as well, at five forty-five. The closing on the latest McMansion in the new development she was selling had been delayed for a couple of days and she’d gotten off early. She recognized Morgan’s SUV in the driveway and felt a quick surge of concern. What had gone wrong now?
The first thing she saw when she walked in the kitchen door was her husband and her daughter, sitting together at the table with two open bottles of wine between them.
Wine. Of course. It had to be wine.
Leila managed not to frown quite as ferociously as she wanted to. Ever since Cliff had developed his obsession with wine, she’d been trying to find a way to talk him out of it. The fact that he’d spent more time with the winery than he had with her over the past few years had led to their current separation, which might or might not become permanent, depending on whether the old coot could bring himself to appreciate his wife as much as his latest release. Now he’d managed to drag their daughter into this insanity, this endless money-sink of a winery. Every time Leila thought about it, she started grinding her teeth. Her dentist had threatened to fit her with a harness to keep her from grinding them down to nubs in her sleep.
She stared critically at her daughter’s profile, just visible through the kitchen door. She had dark circles under her eyes, and she was developing crow’s feet. Leila adjusted the jacket of her Talbots suit over the slight spread of her hips. She’d also be willing to bet Morgan wasn’t eating right.
After a moment to let her exasperation settle, she walked into the kitchen, smile firmly in place. “Sweetie! How wonderful to see you! I thought that was your SUV out front.”
At close range, she thought Morgan looked worse than she had from a distance. She had hollows under her cheekbones, and her eyes were tired. Silently, Leila cursed Cedar Creek, Cliff’s accident and wine in general. She didn’t care how good the stupid vintage was, it wasn’t worth wearing her daughter to a frazzle.
“You’ll stay over tonight, won’t you? Too late to be heading back to the hills today, especially since you’ve been imbibing.” Leila waggled her eyebrows in what she hoped was a comical way. Given Morgan’s current weight, a half bottle of wine would boost her over the blood-alcohol limit in two seconds flat. “If Cliff can’t put you up here, you can stay at the condo with me.”
Morgan hugged her, and Leila swore she could feel every bone in her daughter’s body. “Hi, Mom. I didn’t really drink all of this. Dad did most of it.”
Leila narrowed her eyes at her husband. Cliff wasn’t in much better shape than Morgan was. She’d tried to ration him to two glasses of wine a night.
He shook his head, grimacing. “Don’t worry, warden, I spat most of it out. Merely sipping for test purposes.”
“So what’s the verdict, Dad?”
Beneath Leila’s hands, Morgan’s shoulders seemed awfully tense for a family visit. Leila raised an eyebrow. “What are the two of you up to now?”
“Wine business.” Cliff kept his gaze on Morgan. “Okay, Morg, I agree on the sangiovese—it’s ready to go. But the primitivo needs at least a couple more weeks.”
Morgan’s shoulders relaxed, and she gave her father a brilliant smile. Leila felt her heart contract. Her daughter really was a beautiful woman.
If only she didn’t look so tired! At this rate she’d be worn down to a wisp before she found Mr. Right. Leila put her arm around Morgan’s shoulders and nudged her toward the refrigerator. “Just give me a chance to fatten you up a little, sweetie. Then you can go back tomorrow. Cedar Creek can survive without you for a night.” Cedar Creek could survive without Morgan indefinitely if Leila had anything to say about it.
Across the room, Cliff stood slowly, reaching for his cane. Leila looked away quickly. Seeing him limp across the kitchen always twisted her heart. And she couldn’t afford to feel sorry for him—it might cloud her judgment so that she’d end up living with him again, taking second place to that damned winery. “Cliff, do you
want anything special for supper?”
He sighed. “Nope. I’m going to take a nap for a half hour or so. That should give the two of you time to discuss me.”
Leila stifled the impulse to help him up the stairs. “Take as long as you want. Once we finish with you, we’ll move on to something more interesting.” She heard his snort as he moved through the door. At least the old coot still knew how to laugh.
Morgan didn’t, judging from her expression as she watched her father hobble toward the stairs.
“Believe it or not, he’s doing much better now.” Leila turned back to check the freezer. “His doctor says he can start driving in another few days.”
Morgan gave her a dry smile. “Which means he’ll be coming up to Cedar Creek the day after the doctor lets him start.”
“Exactly.” Leila pulled out a frozen pizza, along with a bag of lettuce from the hydrator. “We’ll have some pizza, baby. Lots of cheese and pepperoni. At least when Cliff starts going to that damned winery again, he can take over some of the work you’re doing. Anything that doesn’t require moving around too much, that is.”
Morgan shrugged. “I’m okay, Mom. Don’t worry about me.”
Leila felt her jaws tightening again. Harness time. She turned to look at her daughter, hands on hips. “Morgan Elizabeth Barrett, you are not ‘okay’. You look like you’re ready to drop in your tracks. And you’ve lost so much weight they’re going to start putting your picture on the cover of the tabloids along with all those damn fool starlets who starve themselves. Don’t you dare tell me not to worry. I’m your mother.”
For a long moment, Morgan stood, blinking. Then she sank into one of the kitchen chairs, rubbing her hands against her temples. “All right, I’m tired. And I need to be more careful about what I eat. I told Dad I’d manage the winery until he was back on his feet, and that’s what I’m doing.”
Leila considered whether to hug her or shake her until her teeth rattled. She decided on the hug, just a quick one across Morgan’s shoulders. “You can let other people do things, you know. As a matter of fact, Ciro and Carmen could probably run that place on their own. Your dad just wanted to keep his hand in, so he picked on you. But I don’t think he realized what he was asking you to take on, baby. You’ve had to learn things in a year that it took him ten years to learn himself.”
Morgan looked up at her, smiling with tired eyes that made Leila’s heart ache. “Why didn’t Dad just let Ciro take over the whole operation in the first place? He’s a lot more qualified than I am.”
Leila blew out a breath. “I’m not sure, baby. He may have wanted you to get involved in the day-to-day routine of the place. I think he hopes you’ll take over his share of Cedar Creek some day, that you’ll love it as much as he does.”
Leila glanced at Morgan in time to see the panic in her eyes. Oh good lord. Was Cliff’s vision of her daughter’s future that much of a nightmare?
Leila patted her on the shoulder, leaning back against the counter. “Let’s not think about your father and what he wants for a minute. What do you want to do, sweetheart? Do you really want to run Cedar Creek?”
“I’m not sure anymore. I thought if I took over as manager, I could finally show Dad I wasn’t a complete lightweight. I know he’s always been disappointed that I didn’t major in chemistry or agriculture—something that could have helped at the winery.”
Leila picked up the bag of lettuce and started for the sink. It kept her from grinding her teeth again. “You’ve never been a lightweight, Morgan. And you did major in something that could help at that damned place. Lord knows Cedar Creek could use some marketing. It’s not your fault your father’s too pigheaded to see it.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Morgan smiled and Leila felt her heart contract again. Damn you, Cliff Barrett. And damn Cedar Creek.
She pulled the pizza out of its plastic bag. Time to shift gears. “So what’s new in Konigsburg? Any interesting people?”
Behind her, she heard Morgan yawn. “We had a bunch of bikers last week for a rally, but I wouldn’t call them interesting exactly. Other than that, not much is going on. Except for Arthur, that is.”
“What about Arthur?” Leila turned on the oven for the pizza and began dividing the lettuce into bowls.
“He got into some oil somewhere. The vet had to shave off some of his fur to clean him up.”
“Mercy.” Leila was operating on autopilot now, half listening while she looked for a tomato in the refrigerator. “So who’s keeping track of him while you’re gone? Ciro and Carmen?”
Morgan didn’t answer for a moment. Leila looked up and caught her expression—guarded, maybe even a little guilty.
“No, he’s staying with a friend of mine until some of the fur grows back. The vet said it may take a few days.”
“A friend?” Leila’s radar shifted into high beam. “You mean that nice lady who owns the bakery?”
Morgan picked at her cuticle, just as she had when she was little and wanted to avoid direct eye contact with her mother. “No. Just a friend.”
Just a friend. Interesting. “Anyone I know?”
Morgan lifted her gaze for a moment, her expression deliberately bland. “I don’t believe so.”
Obviously subtlety wasn’t working. “A male friend?”
Morgan’s mouth narrowed to a thin line. “Yes, Mom, and that’s all I’m going to say about it. Okay?”
Leila laid the pizza onto the oven rack jauntily. All of a sudden she felt a lot more optimistic than she had only a few moments before. “Of course, honey. My lips are sealed.”
She walked to the kitchen table and the two bottles of wine left over from Cliff’s taste test. Normally, she refused to drink wine as an expression of her dislike for the whole Cedar Creek experience. On the other hand… She picked up a glass.
“Which of these bottles did Cliff decide was good?”
Morgan stared at her openmouthed, then pointed to the bottle on the left. “You’re drinking wine, Mom?”
Leila smiled, pouring herself a healthy tipple. “Yes, ma’am. All of sudden I feel like having a little celebration.” She lifted her glass. “To Arthur. And his speedy recovery.” Only not too speedy, please.
Chapter Thirteen
The TCEQ officer, Andy Wells, left early in the afternoon to break the uniformly bad news to Joe Powell—who then spent twenty blistering minutes on the phone with Erik. At five, he tried calling Cedar Creek, only to have Kit tell him that Morgan was in Austin.
He ate dinner with Arthur, not exactly the evening he’d planned.
The next day he spent the morning talking to various state agencies about illegal dumping, then devoted the afternoon to nosing around Powell’s pasture with Nando. They found a lot of limestone, cedar bushes, nopal cactus and goat crap.
“Remind me again, what are we doing out here?” Nando asked him.
Erik wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he’d know the answer when he saw it. “Looking for oil,” he muttered. “Or something that resembles it.”
They finally found it near a sharp limestone outcropping around a hundred yards from the stock tank—a large irregular black circle on the ground.
Nando stared down at it, eyes narrowed. “Smells nasty.”
Very nasty. Erik walked carefully around the edge. Double tire tracks ran across the far side. He knelt beside them. The last big rain had been a couple of weeks ago. Something heavy had driven through the mud. If he’d been working for a big-time department, he could have had a lab tech take impressions, but in Konigsburg he was on his own, unless he wanted to get Pittman to pay for the county lab.
Right. When they’re ice-skating in hell. He pulled out his camera and began snapping shots.
Nando stood at his shoulder, staring down at the tracks. “Heavy sucker.”
“Yeah. Fair-sized truck, most likely.” Erik knelt down to get a better angle for the camera.
“You suppose they drove that thing up here over the sa
me road we used?”
Erik thought about it. Anybody who drove a large truck over that road ran the risk of being seen by Powell or one of his ranch hands. “Maybe at night.”
Nando shuddered. “Scary thought.”
“Yeah. Maybe they do it in late afternoon or evening. After Powell’s hands head for home.” And then he stopped, staring at the black spot.
Morgan had been pushed down the hill in late afternoon. He rose slowly to his feet, staring back at the hillside where he’d found her.
Damn! She must have been walking around the pasture while the dumper was still up there. Maybe she’d scared him. Maybe he’d tried to get rid of her so he could get away without being seen.
Erik felt his gut clench. Tried to get rid of her. He scanned the steep limestone outcroppings at the back of the pasture. “There must be another road up here.”
Nando frowned. “Lots of roads all over these hills.”
“Yeah, but this one has to lead up here from somewhere other than Powell’s ranch.” Erik followed the scar running through the grass, the mark of the double tires.
They found the break between the limestone cliffs a few hundred yards farther on. The road dropped down steeply on the other side.
Nando whistled softly. “Hell of a drop.”
Erik nodded. “But it doesn’t run directly by Powell’s place. Less chance of being seen. And it looks a little smoother than the one we took.”
Nando shrugged. “Even if the driver didn’t go by Powell’s place, somebody might still have seen him. Big truck to be rolling around the back country.”
Erik surveyed the countryside. Clumps of cedar and live oak, limestone crags, white dots that could either be boulders or goats. To the east, neat cultivated rows and a distant building. A familiar distant building.
Cedar Creek Winery.
“Well, hell,” he muttered.
Nando grinned. “Hey that’s good. Maybe somebody down there saw the truck.”
“I hope so.” Better than the other possibilities that had occurred to him.
They drove back down on the road they’d driven up rather than trying to follow the dumper’s steep path. “He must have come up here at least twice,” Erik explained as he negotiated around some truck-killer potholes. “The first time he dumped a load in the stock tank. The second time he dumped it on the ground—maybe because Powell had chicken wire around the stock tank by then.”