Case of the One-Eyed Tiger

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “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?”

  “I didn’t buy the winery,” I pointed out. “I inherited it. I’d like to see about reopening it but that isn’t gonna happen unless I find some help.”

  “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 default 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…”