Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser (6 page)

“How does he get anyone to work for him?” asked Dan. He looked down at his plate as if he couldn’t believe it was already empty.

“The only one I know who has stuck more than one night is Larry Whittaker,” Mr. Applby told him.

“Right,” Dan said, eying my half full salad plate. “Larry Whittaker. You going to eat all that, Ellie?”

I silently exchanged plates with him.

“How is everything?” Sabrina appeared, her smile looking somewhat strained. She leaned over Mark’s shoulder, giving it a little pat. I didn’t think her question was confined to the food.

“Wonderful. Just wonderful,” Aunt Mary told her. “It’s all so pretty, and the food is…well, I thought I was a good cook, but now I know what it means to be a chef.”

I gave Sabrina a thumbs-up. I wasn’t sure she noticed. She was too busy whispering instructions to a waiter who was removing plates. She paused only long enough to glare at Frank and pat Mark once more before saying, “The main course is lamb. It’s wonderful. I managed to sneak a taste in the kitchen. When Otto’s back was turned, of course.”

“How is Otto behaving?” asked Mr. Applby, his tone tinged slightly with apprehension.

“Otto.” Sabrina’s smile turned grim. “That man is a scourge upon the earth. I don’t know how Larry stands it. I’d have run him through with a carving knife by now. But he is a genius.”

She took a bottle from a passing waiter and poured refills into all of our glasses. No one lifted one but Jolene.

“A genius? Not quite. Good, sometimes, but never great,” Frank said. He carefully swirled the wine in his glass, then picked it up and held it to his nose.

“Frank is right,” gushed Jolene, who had already polished off half of hers, not bothering with the subtleties of aroma. She handed a waiter her untasted ahi. I heard Dan quietly moan. “And I’m just sure it’s that wicked temper of his that keeps him from greatness. Don’t you think so, Mr. Carpenter? Or may I call you Carlton?”

“I would be honored,” Carlton said, leaning toward her again. Ian Applby, who had been watching all of this, looked pained. Dan looked like he was going to laugh. I kicked him in the ankle. Softly, of course.

Sabrina paused to whisper in my ear, “It’s going to be a long night,” then followed the last waiter through the door leading to the kitchen. Mark sighed, pushed back his hardly touched salad plate, and stood. He picked up his glass, struck it with his knife, and waited while the chime hushed the conversation throughout the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen. Please let me welcome you all to Silver Springs Winery and thank you for coming. Many of you have been to dinners with the winemaker at Silver Springs before, so I am sure you are aware that my wife, Sabrina, and I are recent additions. We hope that this, our first event, hasn’t disappointed you.”

A smattering of applause and Mark went on.

“Of course, the true credit goes to our chef, who needs no introduction, but I would like him to come out of the kitchen so we can thank him personally. Otto Messinger, ladies and gentlemen.”

This time a bigger round of applause and Otto appeared.

“Will you look at that,” Dan whispered. “The guy can smile.”

“It’s a wonderful thing, applause,” I said.

“Check out Frank,” Dan whispered. “Otto’s not getting any applause from him.”

He wasn’t getting any from Jolene, either. I hoped that Otto wouldn’t notice but would have bet even money that he did.

“Thank you, Otto,” Mark continued, neatly cutting off the speech Otto looked like he was about to deliver. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, please join me in the cellar. We will do a little barrel tasting, a sneak preview of next year’s releases, and I will try to answer any of your questions about wine making. I’m sure we all need a little stretch before we try the wonderful main course Otto has for us, and he tells me dessert will be a big surprise. I will join you in the cellar.”

Chairs were pushed back, laughter and chatting resumed, and people started to move. Most headed toward the stairway that led down to the cellar floor; others headed for the restrooms. Frank assisted Aunt Mary with her chair; Carlton was on his feet heading for Jolene’s. Too late. Ian Applby got there first. Dan and I grinned at each other and started to push back our own chairs when Otto descended.

“I trust you are all enjoying the meal?” He stood there, arms folded across his chest, jaw sticking out, tall hat quivering.

“It’s magnificent, Otto,” Ian Applby told him. He reached out and steadied Jolene. “One of your finest efforts.”

“You are right. Although I am sure it has not received fine comments. Not around this table full of thieves and liars.” He glared up at all of us except Aunt Mary. She was the only one at his eye level.

“I would be very careful, Otto. Someday my good temper will fail me.” Frank’s low, soft baritone seemed somehow more threatening in comparison to Otto’s unfortunate squeaky tenor, which now went up in pitch.

“I am not only a great chef; I am an honest man,” Otto went on, ignoring Frank’s threat. “This one,” he pointed to Jolene, who now slipped her arm through Ian Applby’s, “has no palate to taste the wine, no discrimination for the food, and no talent for the writing. Bah! Hypocrite!” Finished with Jolene, he turned back to Frank and with a sweeping gesture included Mark. “It is only too bad she doesn’t write about the Tortellis as they really are. As thieves. Like father, like son.”

“Now hold it,” Mark exploded.

“How dare you!” Frank said.

“How dare I? Easily.” Otto folded his arms and nodded, making his hat tremble.

“That is a terrible thing to say,” stated Aunt Mary.

“It is a terrible thing to do,” persisted Otto. “Mr. Applby, you are supposedly an intelligent man. Why then have you chosen for yourself a nest of vipers?”

“I think you had better explain.” Ian Applby’s tone was low, but grim. He still held onto, or propped up, Jolene, but his glare was directed at Sabrina, who now appeared behind Mark.

“Frank Tortelli made his reputation on one of my recipes. That is a well known fact,” started Otto.

“Known only to you,” Frank said, through gritted teeth.

“No. To others, as you well know. And his son, his son steals wine!” finished Otto, triumphant.

“Steals—I knew it.” Carlton Carpenter had been uncharacteristically quiet up to now but evidently could no longer contain himself.

“Ah, the real estate man. The investment advisor,” Otto sneered “So, you are here, also. Are you looking for other clients to cheat?”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Ian Applby, ignoring Carlton. He stared at Otto before swinging around to face Mark. “What wine? What is he talking about?”

“The man’s a raving lunatic.” Mark threw down his napkin. His expression was furious, but something flickered in his eyes. “I have a barrel tasting to do.”

“Yes. We know that,” said Mr. Applby. His eyebrows drew together as he frowned, his eyes moving back and forth between Mark and Otto. “But what about this wine business?”

“There’s nothing to it. Just a misunderstanding. I’ll explain it later.” He looked directly at Ian Applby. “To you. When we have some privacy.”

Mr. Applby nodded, but he didn’t look happy as Mark stomped off. Sabrina started after him, paused, looked back at us, flung her arms out into space and said, “Otto, please.”

“Phuf,” the genius said, glared at everyone, gave his head a toss, which made his hat go wild, and stalked back toward the kitchen.

“That man is impossible,” Mr. Applby said. “We are lucky his little diatribe was confined to this table alone.” He turned to Sabrina with an expression of grim dissatisfaction. “I hope that next time you will follow my advice.” His tone was low but it had the impact of a whip on bare flesh. Sabrina flinched, the color drained out of her face, but she said nothing. “My dear Miss Bixby,” he went on, “shall we join the others in the wine cellar? It will be very instructive to see how Mark conducts this little tour. And the tasting.”

Ian Applby and Jolene headed for the stairs, followed closely by Carlton, the partner. Frank’s eyes were blazing, but the smile he gave Aunt Mary was bland and sunny.

“Shall we join them? I have heard many good things about next year’s Syrah and am anxious to taste it.”

Aunt Mary gave us a quick glance, received Dan’s slight nod and moved off with Frank, listening to his impromptu lecture on the virtues of Bordeaux wines.

“Otto’s going to get us fired, I just know it,” Sabrina said. “Why, why didn’t I listen to Mr. Applby? And everyone else who said he was awful? The article in
Food and Wine
raved about him. When I heard he was here, in Santa Louisa, I was thrilled. Temperamental? No problem. They’re all temperamental. Look at Frank. I had no idea I couldn’t control that vicious little humpty dumpty.”

“Mr. Applby seems like a reasonable man,” Dan told her. “I’m sure everything is going to work out fine.”

“Yeah?” Such cynicism would do justice to the current Middle East peace negotiator. “I’d better get back to the kitchen. All these tables have to be reset and Mark’s barrel tasting won’t last long.”

Sabrina hurried off.

Neither of us said anything for a moment.

“I thought you promised me a fun evening,” Dan finally said.

“It’s had its moments,” I told him a little faintly.

“That it has. Want to go see Mark siphon wine out of barrels?”

“Not especially. What I really want is a cup of coffee. At home. On my own front porch.”

“With Jake in your lap?” laughed Dan. Jake, my big yellow tomcat, had a real fondness for laps.

“He’s more likely to be in yours,” I sighed. “As long as Mark and Sabrina’s poodle is around, he won’t be in either of our laps.”

“Paris is a good dog, but Jake sure does hate him. That reminds me. Any word on Mark and Sabrina’s house hunting? Not that I mind them being there, of course,” he said hastily.

“Sir,” I told him with mock seriousness, “I think I have good news. Come on, let’s go downstairs, and I’ll fill you in on the latest.”

We slowly descended the stairs to be met with the coolness of the cellar floor and the yeasty richness of fermenting wine. There was a low murmur of voices, a laugh loud in the cavernous space. Someone handed us each a glass with about a swallow of ruby red wine.

“This cabernet sauvignon is only two years old, but what a nose it has. Here, try it.”

I obediently held the glass up to my nose and swirled the liquid around, watching the wine as it dripped down the inside of the glass.

“What are you doing?” asked Dan.

“Looking at the ‘legs,’” I told him.

“The what? Why do you do that?”

“I have no idea,” I answered, “but this is what Sabrina told me to do, so—”

“Are you going to drink that stuff?”

“I doubt it. Are you?”

“No. Here. Let’s go over there.”

Dan took both glasses, emptied them into the open concrete drainage line that ran along one side of the cellar floor under the tall stainless steel tanks, put the glasses down on an upright barrel and started to lead me away. We could see Mark standing in the middle of a small group, with what looked like an oversized meat baster in his hand, pointing at the oak barrels stacked up to the ceiling.

“That stack of barrels is ‘racked,’” he said. “The wine is resting, picking up flavor. It should be ready for bottling next year.”

“There are several people here tonight who might be improved by racking. The kind they did in the middle ages,” I muttered.

Dan laughed. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”

We were at the other end of the cellar, standing beside huge stacks of boxes, labeled with the famous Silver Springs logo. No one was around, and the voices that had echoed so annoyingly were muted.

“Ellie, have Mark and Sabrina found a place yet?”

The abruptness of Dan’s question startled me. “Yes. That’s what I was going to tell you. They put a deposit on a house this morning.” I paused and asked, “Are you glad?”

“Oh,” he started, trying to be nonchalant. “I just wondered. Jake really does hate that dog. And we have so much to do the next couple of months, to get ready for the wedding and all.” He grinned somewhat sheepishly, then, without looking directly at me, went on. “When are they moving out?”

“Next weekend probably. Are you glad?”

“Well.” Dan still wasn’t looking at me. “They have been staying with you almost a month.” Now he did look at me and smiled. A corny kind of smile, half hidden under his mustache. “It’s put a crimp in our love life.”

“It’s been awkward, but…”

“I know, I know. Sabrina is your niece, you have a large house, it’s the house you and your sister grew up in, and you could hardly refuse when she called and asked if they could stay.”

“Could I have? This job came up so suddenly, and they didn’t have time to find anything. Besides, I’ve enjoyed them. It’s given me a chance to get to know Sabrina. Catherine never came home to California much, and Brian and I somehow never made it back East. I thought you liked them, too.”

“I do like them. They’re great kids. But a month’s a long time. And I’ve missed you.”