The following morning I was standing in front of the information desk at Medford’s one and only college. The city may be more than 20 times the size of Pomme Valley but it still wasn’t large enough to warrant a full-scale university. However, that being said, I was at least glad they had a community college.
I still wasn’t comfortable leaving Sherlock alone in the house so I stashed him – with a bowl of water – back in my Jeep. I swear he was asleep before I had even locked the doors. I would never have imagined dogs could be that well behaved.
A bright, perky blonde girl with her hair up in a high ponytail was manning the desk. At the moment, she was helping a nervous looking boy. From what I could overhear, the kid had lost his parking permit and was trying to get another one without paying for it. Apparently the fee was $235 for the semester and the kid was trying every sob story he could think of to get out of paying for another. The girl, much to her credit, wouldn’t be swayed.
“As it states in your student handbook,” the girl was saying, keeping her bright, cheery smile plastered on her face, “the replacement fee for a parking permit is the same price as if you were to purchase another. There are no exceptions.”
The kid finally produced a credit card and sullenly signed his name to the slip. The girl then handed over a blue sticker.
“I would affix this to your windshield as soon as you’re back in your car. I wouldn’t want you to have to pay for another.”
The kid grumbled his thanks and wandered off. Still smiling, the girl turned to me.
“Hello! How can I help you today?”
Hmm, where to begin?
“Hi. I’m told this school offers courses on wine-making. Is that true?”
The girl beamed at me.
“Of course!” She stepped out from behind her desk and guided me to a nearby rack full of pamphlets and brochures. She selected one and turned to me. “As you can see here we have quite a selection of courses available, ranging from our ‘From Vineyard to Harvest’ course to our ‘From Harvest to Bottle’ course. We also have courses exploring the many regions of the world which are known for producing an excellent bottle.”
“You sound as though you’ve taken some of these classes,” I observed as I skimmed through the pamphlet.
The girl nodded, “I’m currently enrolled in the ‘From Harvest to Bottle’ course and I love it. My parents own a small winery and are grooming me to take it over in a few years.”
“Is that something you want to do?” I asked the girl.
She nodded, “Of course. I’m absolutely fascinated by the entire process. Taking a simple vine, nourishing it so that it produces optimum results, and then turning that into a fine wine. Are you thinking about enrolling?”
I shrugged.
“I’m just looking for someone that knows the ins and outs of a winery and how to make the machinery work.”
“Oh, there’s so much more to it than that,” the girl warned. “You’ll see. Anyway, if you’re looking to talk to an expert then I’d look for Professor Ferris. He’s the one who teaches my class. If he doesn’t have the answers to your questions then no one will.”
“Where can I find him?”
The girl pulled out another pamphlet from the rack. This time when I unfolded it I saw a map of the college. She pointed out the wing that had all the faculty offices and told me which one was his.
Armed with my map I found his office with relative ease. As luck would have it, Professor Ferris was at his desk, poring over a stack of papers. I knocked on the door and waited for the professor to look up. When he did I saw that he was probably in his mid-sixties, had gray thinning hair, white bushy eyebrows, and small frameless glasses dangling precariously at the end of his nose. His face, when he looked up at me, was hard and stern. I wouldn’t want this guy for a teacher.
“Yes?” he asked, with all the warmth of a glacier. “Is there something you want?”
“Are you Professor Ferris?”
“Yes.”
I waited for a few seconds to see if he’d say anything else. When he didn’t, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding.
“Hi. Sorry to bother you. I, uh, inherited a winery.”
“Good for you.”
I had to bite my tongue. I could feel my patience-meter slowly winding down.
“I’m looking for someone that knows something about the day-to-day operations of a small winery. There are machines in there that I have no clue how to run. I was hoping to find someone that could give me some pointers.”
“Find Caden. He’s the one with time on his hands.”
“And Caden is…?”
“My assistant,” the professor snapped. “He’s in the media center making copies of tomorrow’s exams. Will there be anything else?”
Pompous ass. Even if there were, I wouldn’t ask him.
“Nope. Thanks.”
I consulted my map and found the media center without any problems. It was a large room filled with computers, copiers, scanners, several large televisions, and several rows of cubicle-like work stations. Thankfully there was only one person at the copiers and he looked bored as hell. He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties, was thin as a rail, and had a mop of unkempt curly black hair. I could also see that he had some type of earbuds in his ears. I followed the white cable down to his sweatshirt pocket and saw either a portable music player or a really tiny cell phone.
“Are you Caden?” I asked as I approached.
He didn’t respond. I could only assume he didn’t hear me. I reached the table the copier was sitting on and knocked on its surface. The guy looked up. He pulled one of the earbuds out and waited for me to say something.
“Are you Caden?” I repeated.
“Yeah. Who are you?”
“Do you have a minute? Can I talk to you?”
Caden reached up to remove the second earbud, “Don’t look now, but I kinda think you already are?”
My eyes narrowed and I’m sure I had started scowling. Was being a sarcastic smartass a pre-req to live in this state? Two can play this game.
“Thanks for reminding me, pal. I hadn’t noticed.”
Much to my surprise, Caden suddenly grinned, as if he had made up his mind about something. He thrust out a hand.
“Caden Burne. What can I do for you?”
“Does everyone around here go through mood swings?” I asked, shaking his hand. “I’m Zack Anderson. Tell me something, Caden. Why is everyone around here so damn snarky?”
“I’m sorry about that. I had to make certain Professor Ferris didn’t send you to check up on me. Once I was sure you weren’t then I figured the coast was clear.”
“Actually, Professor Ferris did send me,” I admitted.
Caden groaned, rolled his eyes, and held up his hands in surrender.
“Fine. Great. What did I do wrong now?”
“Nothing. He said you might be able to help me.”
That comment had the effect of making the skinny kid rapidly blink his eyes and cock his head. “Wait, what? You don’t work for the school?”
“Nope. I’m here looking for some advice.”
“Oh. You want some advice? Don’t ever agree to work in a school. Especially this one. Here I am, a college graduate with a master’s degree, and look what I’m doing. Making copies. Look, man. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be venting my frustration on you. What can I do for you?”
“I hear you know about wine?” I hopefully asked.
Caden nodded, “Of course. Planting, nurturing, harvesting, bottling, I’ve done it all. What did you need help with?”
“Well, I’ve got this winery with a whole bunch of complicated looking machines in it that I will admit to knowing nothing about.”
Caden studied me for a few moments, intrigued.
“You don’t know anything about making wine and yet you bought a winery?”
“You inherited your own winery? Lucky dog. Next you’ll tell me that you inherited the vineyards to go along with it.”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” I confessed.
Caden stared at me with undisguised envy.
“Man, some people get all the luck. Where is it? Here in Medford?”
“No. It’s in Pomme Valley.”
“There are 24 wineries in Pomme Valley,” Caden instantly responded. “And of those, only 6 have their own vineyards. I know them all.”
“You learn something every day,” I muttered. When Caden gave me a questioning look, I explained. “I had heard there were 24 wineries in PV but didn’t know there were only 6 with actual vineyards. It sounds like you’ve probably heard of mine. Lentari Cellars? Ring any bells?”
“Lentari Cellars?” Caden sputtered. He stared at me with a look of astonishment on his face. “You inherited Lentari Cellars? Are you kidding me?”
“No. Why are you so surprised?”
“I used to work there.”
It was my turn to be surprised.
“You worked there? I don’t suppose you’re the one that Bonnie trusted to handle the entire winery, are you?”
“Yeah, that’s me. You heard about me?”
I nodded, “Only that Bonnie had a kid running the winery.”
“A kid,” Caden scoffed. “Why does everyone call me a kid? I’m 32, for crying out loud.”
My eyebrows shot up.
“You’re in your thirties?”
Caden shrugged, “I know. I don’t look like it but I am. Listen, are you really going to open the winery back up?”
“Interested in resuming your duties there?” I asked. I was trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible but I already knew I had asked the question a little too eagerly.
Caden fixed me with a stare.
“Only if you can guarantee I won’t have to deal with Bonnie’s crackpot daughter.”
“Abigail? You don’t have to worry about her. I own the winery, not her. If you don’t mind me asking, what do you have against her? Aside from the obvious, that is.”
“Well, let’s see.” Caden held out a hand and began ticking off fingers. “She’s mean, cold-hearted, rude, cruel, stuck-up…”
I burst out laughing as I watched him switch hands.
“…pompous, opinionated, stubborn, heartless, callous…”
Clearly my new friend here had encountered Abigail Lawson before. He switched hands again.
“…pitiless, insensitive, unfeeling, ruthless, bitter…”
“Okay, okay. I get it. You and she didn’t get along.”
“I’m an amiable guy,” Caden said. “I can get along with just about everybody. But Abigail? Oh, she hated me. Trust me when I say that the feelings were mutual.”
“Did you do something to piss her off?” I asked, curious.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that. I breathed.”
“What did she have against you?”
“She didn’t want me there,” Caden explained. “In her mind’s eye that was her winery and I had no business being there, even though I had been running Lentari Cellars for nearly ten years. I helped develop the recipes for all their wines.”
“Recipes?” I chuckled. “That’s an odd way to put it.”
“That’s the only way to put it,” Caden clarified, dumping another stack of copy paper on a growing pile next to the large machine. “Every winery has their own secret recipe and they keep it under lock and key. I worked closely with Bonnie to develop the unique flavors Lentari Cellars were known for, knowing full well those recipes belonged to the winery. I was okay with that. She had them under lock and key somewhere and I had ‘em up here.” Caden tapped the side of his head.
“So if you liked your job so much, why’d you leave?”
Caden sighed. He finished making his copies, slid the stack of papers into a briefcase, spun the combo dials to lock the case, and then verified that the case was locked. When the briefcase refused to open Caden turned back to me.
“I couldn’t stand the increasing drama between Abigail and Bonnie. As demand for our product grew, Abigail increased the pressure on her mother. Several large, commercial wineries began sniffing at our door and Abigail wanted to sell. If you ask me, Abigail only wanted the money. She didn’t give a shit about the wine.”
“Was Bonnie ever tempted to sell?” I asked.
“Not once,” Caden said. “Trust me, I heard about some of the offers that were coming in. Had I been the owner I would have been sorely tempted.”
We exited the media center and headed back towards the faculty offices.
“The primary reason she didn’t sell,” Caden continued, “were those recipes. She was proud of the work I had done. She didn’t want to see any of her wine commercialized. She wanted to keep Lentari Cellars local.”
I was briefly reminded about all those receipt boxes in my attic. Those date spans went back farther than ten years. Of that, I was certain.
“You said you’ve been with Lentari Cellars for 10 years, is that right?”
“Right,” Caden confirmed.
“Who was running it before you? The winery has been in operation for at least 30 years. I know. I still have the receipts up in my attic.”
Caden shrugged, “I don’t know who Bonnie used before me. All I know is what I’ve been personally told. With my help the winery was able to sell every bottle of wine from each batch of grapes. Hell, we were even pre-selling. In the last 2 years we had to create waiting lists.”
“The wine was that good?” I asked, mystified.
“Yes. We were winning contests and local awards left and right. Bonnie gave me full control over the winery. She trusted me with everything.” Caden deepened his voice and added a Scottish lilt to it. “And that was when we awakened the Beast.”
I snorted with laughter, “Let me guess. That’s when Abigail came calling.”
“She was already a pest, as I only saw her once a year. In the last 2 years, however, she started coming by every other month. Once Bonnie’s health started to deteriorate, it became every other week. If only Abigail knew how much her visits stressed her mother out.”
“Did you ever tell her?” I asked.
“I only tried one time to speak with Abigail about her mother. I was promptly told to butt out. I never tried again. Bonnie finally suggested that I take a leave of absence until she could smooth things over with her daughter. I told her that I would save her the trouble. I didn’t need this stress in my life. Either she promised me that I’d never have to deal with Abigail again or else I’d have to seek employment elsewhere.”
“Obviously she didn’t go for that,” I guessed.
“Actually, I never found out,” Caden said. “By the time I was ready to quit, Bonnie had fallen into a coma. She never awoke. Abigail must have gotten wind of my desire to leave because all of a sudden she informed me it was her mother’s dying wish that the winery would be bequeathed to her. She told me that once her mother’s will was read, and it was confirmed the winery would be given to her, she was planning on selling Lentari Cellars to the highest bidder. I just assumed my time with the winery had come to an end, so I left.”
“So basically she was lying her ass off,” I mused.
Caden nodded, “Right. Although, in her defense, I do believe she truly felt she would inherit that winery. Just between you and me, I’m glad you’re here. Bonnie never wanted to sell Lentari Cellars. She wanted to keep the label small and local.”
“No wonder Bonnie never relinquished control of the winery to her daughter,” I mused. “I knew Abigail wanted to control, and probably wanted to sell, but until recently I really didn’t have any idea why. Aside from her being a
heartless bitch, that is.”
“Do you promise you won’t ever sell?” Caden seriously asked, dropping his voice so it wouldn’t be overheard.
“No intentions whatsoever,” I confirmed. “I inherited the winery due to my late wife’s connection with the family. I’m going to keep it running in her memory.”
Caden extended his hand.
“Then you’ve got yourself a deal. Let’s get Lentari Cellars back on the map. You do understand that I’ll have to wait until we start turning a profit before I return to work full-time, don’t you? I have to do what’s best for me.”
“I completely understand.”
We shook on it.
“Hey, I just thought of something,” Caden said. “Would you be amendable to me holding a class or two out at the winery? They’re looking for someone to teach next semester’s ‘From Harvest to Bottle’ class and I know Professor Ferris doesn’t want to teach it again. However, he knows I do want to teach the class so he’d take it just to spite me.”
“Can you teach it better than Mr. Grouch?” I asked, certain I already knew the answer.
“Not only could I teach that class blindfolded,” Caden confirmed, “but I could also offer practical, hands-on experience at a real, working winery. Ferris could never offer that. Too many people think he’s an egotistical jerk. What do you say?”
“I’d say he’s an egotistical jerk, too.”
“No, I mean, would you let me teach a class there?”
Grinning, I took Caden’s hand and gave it another firm shake.
“I knew what you meant the first time. You’ve got yourself a deal, pal.”
I returned to my Jeep, started it up, and gave Sherlock a friendly pat on the head. Only then did the corgi crack open an eye. He regarded me for a few seconds, opened his other eye, stretched, and rose to a sitting position. He panted contentedly as he watched the passing scenery.
The weather was absolutely gorgeous. The sun had finally broken through the thick cloud cover and the temperatures started to rise. Ten minutes later I was looking at a fairly cloudless sky. I don’t mind the rain. Don’t get me wrong. However, I would like to see that pretty ball of fire in the sky known as the sun from time to time. As a result, I had all the windows in my Jeep rolled down. All except for Sherlock’s, that is. I had his rolled about half-way down and left it there. I had to set the window locks in place because just as we were pulling back into PV I happened to glance over at my passenger to see how he was doing and nearly had a heart attack. The window had been rolled all the way down and the little corgi was standing up on his hind legs, resting his front paws on the door. He had stuck his head out the window and as much of his body as he could. Apparently he enjoyed having the wind ruffling the fur on his face.
After pulling him inside and rolling the window back up, leaving just enough for him to stick the tip of his snout through, I allowed my pulse to return to normal. We had just turned onto Main Street when I noticed the window was down again. Okay, the first time might have been me, since I had rolled all the other windows down. The second time was definitely him. Sherlock had apparently figured out if he pressed his paw down on a specific spot on the door panel then the window would magically retract into the door.
Little snot. Thanks to that unplanned heart attack your window is going to remain in the upright and locked position for the duration of the flight. I smirked at the dog as I jabbed my finger down on the window lock button.
Sure enough, I heard a few clicks as Sherlock shuffled his feet around, looking for the magical window opener. After a few moments he gave up and was content to stick his nose through the small crack I left in the window for him.
I saw the familiar purple building comprising Jillian’s store and immediately took my foot off the gas, allowing the Jeep to coast into a parking space in front of Cookbook Nook. Jillian was the one who had pointed me towards the college. I figured the least I could do was inform her how well it went and let her know I had found the person responsible for running the winery in the past.
Sherlock noticed the Jeep had come to a halt and whined enthusiastically. He knew I had made an unplanned stop and was making it blatantly obvious that he fully expected to chaperone my every move. He waited patiently by the door as I walked around my Jeep to help His Royal Highness to the ground.
Together we walked into Cookbook Nook. The door chimed softly, announcing our presence. Within a few moments Jillian appeared from behind one of her racks of books and beamed a smile at me.
“Zack! What a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you today?”
“I thought you’d like to know that, thanks to you, I now know who has been running Lentari Cellars.”
Jillian shelved the book she was holding and approached.
“That’s wonderful news! Who was it? Oh, I’m sorry. Hello, Sherlock. And how are you doing today you handsome boy?”
Sherlock had allowed himself to slide into a ‘down’ position and was watching Jillian like a hawk. For some reason I was reminded to pick up a bag of doggie treats to keep in my Jeep. As if she was reading my mind, Jillian hurried back to the counter, fumbled around for just a bit, and returned with a familiar baggie of canine goodies. She held a rounded piece of dough out to Sherlock, who instantly snapped it up.
“So, I’m dying to know. Was it a professor at the college?”
“Assistant professor,” I answered. “It was a guy by the name of Caden Burne. Apparently the head of that department, Professor Ferris, is a major grouch. I honestly feel sorry for his students. I told him what I was hoping to do and he pointed me towards his assistant, who practically leapt at the chance of taking over responsibilities at the winery again. I’m even going to let him teach a hands-on class at the winery.”
“Now that would be a class worth taking,” Jillian mused. “I couldn’t think of a better way to learn how to make wine than from someone who knows what they’re doing inside a real, working winery.”
“My sentiments exactly.”
A cricket chirped loudly nearby. Puzzled, I looked over at Jillian. I found it hard to believe an insect would have found its way into an immaculate store such as this. Judging from the look on her face, she thought so, too.
“Did you hear that?” she asked.
“Yeah. Sounds like you’ve got a cricket hiding in here somewhere.”
I checked to see if my amazing canine clue-finder had noticed anything only to be rewarded with a bored yawn.
“Might’ve been your cell phone,” Jillian suggested. “You can set just about anything up as a ring tone or notifier these days.”
“I know it’s possible,” I admitted, “but I couldn’t even begin to tell you how to do it. I miss my old cell.”
“Let me guess. Your old cell was a flip phone?”
“As a matter of fact it was,” I told her, nodding. “There’s something to be said about a phone that could only make and take phone calls.”
The cricket chirped again. This time I felt a slight vibration coming from my pocket.
“It’s definitely your phone,” Jillian observed.
“It may be, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”
I pulled my cell out of my pocket and held it up to my ear. Naturally the blasted thing had fallen silent. Jillian held out a hand.
“Let me see your phone.”
I passed my cell over. I watched her tap and slide her fingers over the screen.
“There it is. Do you see? Your default text alert is set to ‘cricket’.”
I stared at the phone as though it was a piece of alien technology that had been found in Roswell, New Mexico.
“I will swear to you on my grandfather’s grave that I have never messed with those settings. I didn’t even know those settings were there. Why in the world would my phone be preset to sound like a bug? I’ve never heard it do that before.”
Jillian smiled, “Well, the d
efault sound is actually a simple ding and it is right next to the ‘cricket’. Since you don’t like the cricket I could change it to the bell, chime, fanfare, horn, swish, swoosh…”
“Seriously?”
“Oh, I’m not done. There’s also tweet, glass, fanfare, and choo choo, just to name a few. Those are the classics. Then there’s…”
“Okay, okay,” I interrupted. “I get it.”
“Would you like me to leave it on the cricket?”
I shrugged, “Sure, I guess. Now that I know my phone is the culprit I’ll know what to do if I hear it again.”
“You have a text message,” Jillian said, turning my phone’s display around to show me. “That’s what the number means next to that little speech bubble doohickey right there.”
I tapped the screen and together Jillian and I watched the message appear. It was from Vance.
Heard from buddy in Portland. No record on Abigail Lawson. Sorry.
Jillian sighed, “Well, that’s disappointing.”
Surprised, I turned to Jillian, “Why? You wanted Abigail Lawson to have a criminal record?”
Jillian giggled. “Wouldn’t that have been great? I would have loved to have seen a couple of DUIs, or maybe a domestic violence charge, or something like that. Man, what does a girl have to do in order to catch a break around here?”
I laughed. I was really starting to like this woman. There’s something to be said about someone who can make another person laugh regardless of the circumstances.
I was in the process of putting my phone away when I accidentally brushed one of the other icons on my phone’s home screen. A picture immediately appeared and expanded to fit the screen.
“Whoops, sorry. I must’ve touched the picture program. Hold on a sec. I’ll just clear that off of there.”
Jillian was gazing at the screen. It was the picture from the security footage of my mystery guest taken at the newspaper office.
“There’s someone I haven’t seen in a while.”
I had just cleared the picture from my phone when I froze.
“Wait. You’ve seen that guy before? Where? When? Who was he??”
“I’ve lived in this town my entire life,” Jillian reminded me. She gestured at my phone. “I will admit I haven’t seen him in a while but I do remember him.”
I opened the picture back up and stared at the pale guy with the blonde hair.
“This guy? You’re sure?”
Jillian nodded, “It’s been a few years but yes, I’m sure.”
“Who is it?”
“That’s Gerald Lumen if I’m not mistaken.”
“Lumen? Wait. Isn’t that Zora’s last name?”
“Yes. They’re related. She’s his cousin, a few times removed. Don’t quote me on that. I could be wrong.”
“Damn,” I swore. Sherlock looked up at me and growled softly.
“What’s the matter?” Jillian asked, concerned.
“Once more my theory has been thrown out the window. I thought for certain this guy, Gerald, was Abigail’s son.”
Jillian nodded again.
“Well, then you’d be right. Gerald is Abigail’s son.”
“He is? But you just said… that would make… do you mean Zora and Abigail are –”
“Related?” Jillian asked, finishing my sentence for me. “Yes. Didn’t you know? They’re family.”
NINE
Case of the One-Eyed Tiger Page 10