Case of the One-Eyed Tiger

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “So, uh, what did you say to her?”

  “My mother raised me well.”

  I was disappointed. I could only hope it didn’t show too much.

  “You mean you didn’t say anything to her? Jillian, you’re a better person than I am. I would have told her off.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. I said that my mother had raised me well. I was going for a Griswold.”

  “A Griswold?” I repeated, confused.

  “Yes. It’s a very popular brand of cast iron cookware.”

  A smile appeared on my face as I pictured ol’ Miss Congeniality herself sprawled out on Jillian’s tile floor with a heavy cast iron frying pan lying nearby. I cleared my throat to get Jillian’s attention.

  “I wouldn’t bother. The last thing you’d want to do is damage your merchandise.”

  Jillian sat back in her chair and regarded me with a serious expression.

  “I was ready to do it, Zack. Pow, right there in the middle of my store. I didn’t care if there were witnesses, or if I would be arrested. How dare that woman denigrate my business like that?”

  “She’s a snob,” I decided. “I, for one, will not give that grouchy woman another thought.”

  I stood up, bought another bottle of soda, and rejoined Jillian at the table.

  “I’ll bet I can change your mind,” Jillian challenged. “I’ve got something on her that’ll most definitely make you smile.”

  I was in the process of taking a large swallow of soda when I paused.

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “She’s flat broke.”

  “She is? And how could you possibly know that?”

  “A friend of mine works at the salon just down the street. She overheard a heated argument Abigail was having with someone on her cell. Your winery’s name, and a few other choice words, were mentioned a few times so I assumed she was talking about her mother.”

  “When was this?” I asked.

  “At the beginning of the year. Bonnie’s health had started to deteriorate. Abigail was putting in appearances here in PV every other week. Everyone in town knew that the only reason Abigail Lawson came to PV was to try yet again to wrest control of the winery away from her mother. Bonnie, bless her heart, never once let herself be intimidated, especially by the likes of Abigail.”

  “Did you ever meet her?”

  “Who, Abigail? Yes. I told you, I almost hit her with a frying pan.”

  “No, I mean Bonnie.”

  “Oh. Yes, several times. She was a very nice woman. She was intelligent, witty, and contrary to what you might have heard, did have a sense of humor.”

  “Contrary to what I might have heard?” I repeated, confused.

  “Many people thought Bonnie was unapproachable; intimidating. Not me, though. I once hand-delivered a cookbook she had ordered and ended up getting invited inside for tea. She was a remarkably intelligent woman, probably the smartest I have ever met.”

  “She must have had her reasons why she didn’t want to give control of the winery to her own daughter,” I mused. I raised the bottle of soda to my lips.

  “I should have slammed the door in Abigail’s face the moment I first met her. Maybe that would’ve knocked some sense into her. Ugh. Greedy, crotchety bitch.”

  I snotted my Coke Zero. Twin streams of brown carbonated liquid shot out my nose and down the front of my shirt. The burning sensation that inevitably followed had me gasping with pain. I slapped a hand over my nose, hoping to minimize the mess I knew I was making of my shirt. Jillian, on the other hand, was beside herself with the giggles. She dabbed the corners of her eyes with her napkin and pulled a few more from the dispenser to hand to me.

  “You almost made it to the table,” Jillian observed, between giggles. “That’s an impressive shot.”

  I glanced at my shirt. Naturally I had chosen one of my lighter-colored tees today. You know, the kind that show stains really well? There it was. Two rows of tiny spots all the way down to my stomach. Wow. That was an impressive shot.

  “Did I make you do that?” Jillian innocently asked.

  “What do you think?” I countered. I wiped my face and then my hand.

  “What’s the matter? Didn’t think someone like me could talk like that?”

  I tried soaking up the excess soda from my shirt with a few fresh napkins. All I ended up doing was to smear the soda into my shirt, making the stain more noticeable.

  “Not really. Sorry you had to see that.”

  “Zack, I grew up with an older brother. There’s nothing that you, or anyone else for that matter, could say that I haven’t heard before. You should’ve heard my brother whenever he hit his thumb with a hammer.”

  A grin split my face. I had smashed my thumb a few times when I had thought, erroneously, that anyone could be a carpenter. Thankfully Samantha hadn’t been around to hear the tirade of profanity that had ensued, thus ending that short-lived profession.

  “Samantha would have liked you,” I said, looking across at Jillian.

  Jillian’s expression softened. “Tell me about her. How long ago did you say that she died?”

  “Almost six months,” I answered.

  “You think about her all the time, don’t you? That’s not healthy, you know.”

  “I know,” I sighed. “Does it show?”

  “It’s not that hard to figure out,” Jillian told me. “And it’s easy to see why. You miss her.”

  I shrugged, “Of course I do. It’s not like I have one of those flashy things from Men in Black that can make me forget her.”

  “Flashy things, huh? You really like movies, don’t you?”

  “Always have, always will. Samantha called it a sickness.”

  Jillian smiled, sipped her drink, and held my eyes with hers.

  “What was she like?”

  “Kind,” I instantly replied. “Intelligent. Wickedly awesome at Tetris. I thought I was good but damn, she was better. Way better.”

  Jillian let out a laugh. A small part of me had found it charming and I instantly compared the laugh to Samantha’s. Almost immediately a wave of guilt threatened to wash over me. My skin paled and I had to take a couple of gulps of air.

  “Are you okay?” Jillian asked me, concern evident in her voice.

  “Yeah, sorry. I really need to stop doing that.”

  “Let me guess. You compared me to her, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “I’m sorry. Believe it or not I’m getting better.”

  “How long were the two of you together?”

  “Since high school. Much to the chagrin of both our families, we married right out of school. I swear that if you were to look up the definition of the word ‘soulmates’ you’d see a picture of Sam and me.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to her? How did she die? Was it cancer?”

  I shook my head, “Car accident. To this day no one knows what happened. They say her car swerved into oncoming traffic and she collided head-on with a semi.”

  “I’m sorry, Zack.”

  I sighed and sat back in my chair, “Yeah, me, too. However, that’s in the past. I’m doing my damnedest not to dwell on it. What about you? Are you married?”

  I watched Jillian’s eyes fall down to her hands. She took a deep breath and I instantly knew we had more in common than either of us had originally realized. I grunted, drawing Jillian’s eyes to my own.

  “What?” she asked.

  “That must be what I look like when someone asks me about Sam,” I told Jillian in the gentlest tone that I could muster. “How long ago did he pass away?”

  “Two years. It’s been two years since I lost Michael.”

  I saw that Jillian’s eyes had filled.

  “It’s been two years,” I said. “Is the pain ever going to go away?”

  Jillian shook her head, “No. It won’t.”

  “What did he die of? Can you tell me?”

  Jillian nodded, “Sure. I c
an talk about him. It still hurts but I’ve learned to live with it. He had lung cancer.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s rough. Was he a smoker?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “He never touched a cigarette in all his life.”

  “Then what -?”

  “Second-hand smoke,” Jillian answered, seeing my look of confusion. “Here was a man who took care of himself, didn’t drink, never smoked, yet contracted lung cancer because the people at his work smoked. Life isn’t fair, Zack. He didn’t deserve to go through that.”

  “You’ve been dealing with the pain far longer than I have,” I observed. “How do you deal with it?”

  Jillian leaned forward and placed a hand over one of mine.

  “What you need to learn, Zack, is that even though your wife is gone, your memory of her never will be. It’s something that you have to live with. You said her name was Sam?”

  “Yes, short for Samantha.”

  “Do you think Samantha would have wanted you to dwell on her for the rest of your life?”

  I automatically shook my head no.

  “Nor would Mike have wanted that for me. So, I am honoring his memory by continuing to live my life to the fullest.”

  I looked at her questioningly.

  “I’ve been to therapy,” Jillian supplied. “It really has helped. There’s even a support group in Medford for people who have been widowed. Whenever I’m feeling down I’ll attend a meeting. Trust me, nothing will help you feel better than being in a room full of people going through the same thing you are. You should come with me the next time I go. It’ll be uplifting, I promise you.”

  I leaned back in my chair and polished off my soda.

  “I’m not sure how we worked around to this particular subject,” I told her, “but I will say that I’m not sorry that we did. You’re right. It helps to talk about it.”

  “I didn’t mean to distract you,” Jillian apologized. “What were we talking about before we each veered off subject?”

  “Abigail,” I recalled.

  “That’s right. I was starting to tell you Abigail is suffering through a major financial crisis.”

  “So she’s broke,” I said as I crossed my arms over my chest. I felt moisture and looked down. The twin trails of soda were still there. The stain may be beginning to dry but, sadly, it was blatantly obvious that I had made a mess of my shirt. Oh, well. Win some, lose some. “It couldn’t happen to a nicer person. So that’s gotta be why she wants the winery so much. Judging by the number of receipt boxes I saw up in my attic, Lentari Cellars must do a lot of business.”

  Jillian nodded, “They do. In its prime your winery was a veritable cash cow and I’d say Abigail knows it. Wait. Do you think she is responsible for the murder in the winery? Is she trying to frame you to get you out of the picture?”

  Giving up on my cleanup efforts, I recrossed my arms.

  “In a nutshell, that’s my theory. Initially I hadn’t taken into consideration the financial aspect of it. I just thought she viewed me as an outsider and was outraged that someone like me had inherited the winery.”

  “I can guarantee you she doesn’t care who you are,” Jillian assured me. “She knows how much Lentari Cellars has made in the past and is desperate to lay claim to that money now. She just has to figure out how to get you out of the picture.”

  “The winery may have made money in the past,” I pointed out, “but that doesn’t mean it will now. If people are waiting for me to bring that winery back to life then they are going to be disappointed. I don’t know a damn thing about wine, let alone making it. Have you ever seen the insides of a winery? There’s some complicated looking machinery in there.”

  “Do you know what I would do if I were you?” Jillian asked.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What?”

  “There’s a community college in Medford. Due to this area having perfect conditions for growing grapes, they offer several courses on wine-making.”

  “Okaayyy,” I slowly said, puzzled. “You want me to take a class about how to make wine? I suppose I could do that.”

  “No, silly. Where there are classes, there are teachers. If you’re looking for someone that knows a thing or two about making wine then I’d say that’s the perfect place to start. You need help. That’s where you’ll find it.”

  EIGHT

  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.