One Foot in the Grape (2 page)

“I can tell you when we're going to harvest,” Hayley said.

“That's right. I forgot you're the assistant manager now. You can learn a lot from Connor. I want to talk to him about a couple of other things as well.”

Antonia turned to me. “He's a fine man, about as good as they come.”

“I know that. That's why he's my manager.”

Antonia waved her hand. “I don't mean his skills as a manager. I mean as a man. He'd make a great catch for any single woman. Especially one recently back in town and not getting any younger.”

Antonia playing matchmaker? “Thanks. Especially for the not-getting-any-younger comment, but I'm not interested.”

“Don't take that tone with me, Penelope Lively. If you had any sense, you'd see Connor is about as good as they
come. You'd do well to snatch him up and get him off the market before someone else does.”

Running the winery was hectic enough without dating my manager. We got along great. That was enough.

“He's all yours, Antonia.” I got a small but satisfying glimpse as the pink in her cheeks deepened.

“Don't listen to me, then. You never did.” She moved toward the door. “I'll be off. We should talk again before the festival.”

The Autumn Festival was two days of wine, food and judging the local wineries' best selections. For the first time, the smaller wineries were invited to participate.

“Your first year to compete. Are you ready?”

“We've been ready for weeks.” I smiled.

“Your aunt would be proud.”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Hayley and Antonia walked down the back steps to the winery office.

The sun had come out early and burned away the coastal fog that settled almost every night. The day was bright and clear. I opened the window, leaned out and breathed in the morning air. Sugar in the grapes is highest in the fall, and the vineyards fill the valley with a spicy, sweet fragrance.

I ran my hand over Petite Syrah, curled once again in her armchair, silver-gray fur luxurious in the morning sun.

“She doesn't think you belong on the furniture.”

Syrah pushed against my hand. I rubbed between her ears and stared out over the vineyards. If Martinelli Winery was in trouble, the entire central coast winery business would suffer, including our own humble efforts.

I picked up my camera. I'd always been fascinated with photography. If it was on film it was indisputable. At least it
had been. Photo “enhancing” was done every day and without public knowledge. I was right to refuse to alter my work, but that didn't help with the loss of my career.

I was back at the winery, but I still found comfort in the same place I always found it: behind a camera lens. Now, though, the focus was landscape photography. Nobody asked me to alter my work and there was never a lack of subject matter. Grape leaves wore their autumn finery, the russets, yellows and purples as beautiful in their own way as any maple or elm. Those who believe California doesn't have seasonal color have never lived on a winery.

Syrah followed as I stepped out though the French doors and onto the back deck. She curled up and resumed her nap in the sun's warmth.

The arbor was heavy with pale yellow roses, the last of the season. I took a few shots and walked down the back steps to look out over the fields. Sunlight glimmered through the vines and warmed my face. The chaos of life in the city seemed far away. If ever there was a place free from malice, sheltered from the evils of the world, surely it was here.

Of course, I'd been wrong before.

I
WALKED
back into the sunroom, took a seat at the desk and downloaded the photos onto my computer. When I finished, I walked down to the winery and spent the next hour taking one last look at the barrels. Weeks before, we'd rolled them outside and washed them, rinsing them with water and citric acid. Every barrel needed to be inspected for cracks and defects. Nothing scientific. You stick your head in each one and look around.

Hayley walked up beside me. “Thanks for defending me earlier, but I didn't hear the conversation. What's up with Antonia?”

“Trouble at her winery. The vintages have been bad and she thinks maybe it's being done on purpose.”

Hayley nodded. “There's been talk their wines have been off lately. I've noticed it. The last time I had a Martinelli Chardonnay it was great, but the bottle before that wasn't drinkable. You think Marvin is slipping?”

“I can't believe that. He's impossible and has a mean streak, but he's extremely good at what he does.”

“So if Marvin isn't losing his touch, could someone be doing it on purpose?”

“That's exactly what Antonia thinks. She asked me to help figure it out.”

“Ha! A chance to be nosy. I'm sure you're dreading that.” Hayley knew me too well. Busybody, meddler, snoop. I'd been called these and worse.

“If you don't have anything else to do, you can help me soak these barrels.”

All the barrels, old and new, are “soaked up,” which is simply filling them with water to swell the wood. This tightens the staves and ensures the barrels are leak-free.

“Let me grab the hose.”

“The new ones come in tomorrow.” I'd ordered some additional barrels of French oak. Like most wineries, we used both American and French oak. The American oak imparted a stronger bite to the finish of the wine. I liked it, although many people finished with just the French oak, which left the wine smoother and more buttery.

When we were finished I looked at my watch. “It's lunchtime. Want to grab a bite?”

“It's later than I thought, and I still need to load the truck. I'll grab something later. See you in a bit.”

I returned to the house. The front door opened and footsteps sounded as Connor made his way down the hall. He had an apartment above the winery office but took his meals here.

“So, you talked to Antonia?”

He nodded. “She wanted to know about our inventory control.”

“She didn't ask you about when you were bringing in the rest of the harvest?”

“Not a word.” Connor poured a cup of coffee and sat down. “It would be a little odd for Antonia to ask about when to harvest. Now that I think about it, it's odd she's asking about inventory control. I'm sure they have a system as good as ours over there.”

“I might be able to explain that.” I told Connor of Antonia's suspicions.

“If she thinks something's wrong, then there is. No one is better at this business than Antonia.” Connor took a sip of coffee and studied me over the rim of his cup.

“What?”

“Why would she come here to tell you something's wrong at Martinelli?”

“Antonia doesn't want to go to the police. She wanted to talk about it.”

Connor lifted an eyebrow. “Really? Just wanted to talk about it? Just a couple of gals shootin' the breeze? Odd that Antonia never stopped by before, just to talk.”

I shrugged. “She wants me to help her figure out the problem, but quietly, especially since it's probably someone connected to the winery.”

“Did you think this through?”

“Why, because you think it might be a bad idea?”

“Pretty much.”

“I owe her. She was here for Aunt Monique. I came down as much as possible, but with work it wasn't as often as I wanted.”

Connor kept his eyes on his cup. “You did what you could,
and Monique knew that. Antonia was over all the time. The two of them talked nonstop for hours.”

“So you understand why I want to help her. This is my chance to say thanks.”

“It's just that if your snooping around doesn't go well, or she doesn't like the outcome, you might get caught in the fallout.”

I shook my head. “She knows she may not like the answers, but if I don't help her she'll try to find out who's responsible on her own.”

“That might be a better idea.”

“I already told her I'd help. Anyway, how do you know a good idea until you try it?” Truth is, I'm not very good at picking out the good ideas from the bad. I'll pretty much try them all.

Connor rubbed his eyes.

“What?”

“Never mind. Okay, I follow you're going to help her, and I understand why. Where do you start?”

“Spending time with the logical people.” I ticked off the names on my fingers. “As winery manager Marvin has plenty of opportunity, but I can't imagine his motive. It only hurts him when quality is off. Same with Todd, but since he's limited to the tasting room, I don't know how he fits.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Then there are her three kids.”

Connor nodded. “Rumor is Stephen's being groomed to take over the winery. We'll see if that ever happens. I can't imagine Antonia handing over the reins.”

“You're probably right. He's going to be like Prince Charles—in his sixties and still not running the place. Anyway, that leaves her two daughters.”

“Francesca lives in the city, but she's down here all the
time. I understand she bought some land nearby. There were stories about how she got it, but I've never heard what really happened.”

“Chantal still lives at home, even though she's in her thirties. Boy, that Chantal. I remember
her
, all right. She's a real piece of work. I haven't seen her since I moved back. Does she still have that same, you know, figure?”

Connor smiled but avoided my glance. “If I remember correctly.”

He stood, got more coffee and paced around the kitchen, cup in hand.

“Will you come and sit back down?” I looked at him when he didn't answer. “What?”

“Well, the thing is, if you live here and you're single, or I guess if you're a single male . . . Actually forget the single. If you're a male, sooner or later—”

“Stop, you can't be serious. You're not about to tell me you dated her.”

I don't know why I was surprised or why it mattered. Chantal had rubbed every female in town the wrong way at one time or another, and if the stories were true, had rubbed up against most of the men as well. Not that they complained. Chantal was stunning. She was curvy in that classic Hollywood va-va-voom way, not to mention beautiful and rich. Man, she really ticked me off.

Connor held up his hands. “We went out a couple of times. She wanted to become an item—”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Yeah, Connor, ya think?”

“—but I let her know I just wasn't interested. She's kind of a messed-up kid, if you want to know the truth.”

“Oh, please, she's in her thirties.”

“She hasn't figured out who she is, apart from the Martinelli family. Then there's the winery itself. She shouldn't drink. She's been in rehab a couple of times and I don't think she's ever held a job. She just doesn't seem to know what she wants to be when she grows up.”

“I guess.” Although the last time I saw her, she looked pretty grown-up to me. Not sure exactly how she could grow up any more. Or where. “She'd better get it together soon.” I shook myself. “Enough of Chantal. Anything else?”

“I know where you can see most of them tonight.”

“Where?”

“Do you remember the Monterey County Wine Growers Association?”

“Sure. MCWGA. Wasn't Monique the president?”

Connor nodded. “Now Antonia is. They're holding annual elections tonight. All the Martinellis will be there, if only because Antonia wants to be president again. She'll want their votes. Hayley and I are driving over together. You should come too.”

“Great idea.”

He moved around the kitchen. The sunlight caught his dark blond hair, full and with the hint of a curl. It fell to the edge of his collar. He wore a denim shirt in a sky blue that matched his eyes. He sat back down at the table, the earthy sweetness of grapes on his skin.

I thought about what Antonia said. He was a catch; I just wasn't up for the chase.

Connor caught my eye and smiled. I looked away and caught a reflection of myself in the glass door. Right. I'm sure the reason we weren't together was because I wasn't up for the chase. My sweatsuit had wine stains from the barrels
and highlighted my ten extra pounds. My hair was doing the frizz thing from the spray of the water. I tried to smooth it. Yeah, much better. I'm sure he found me irresistible.

I avoided his gaze. The invitation to the festival sat on the table and I picked it up.

The Cypress Cove Vintners Association

In Conjunction with Martinelli Winery

Invite Penelope Lively

Owner of Joyeux Winery

To Participate in the Twenty-fourth

Annual Autumn Festival

Penelope again. Antonia must have dictated the invitations.

“Antonia asked if we were ready for this.” I slid the invite across the table.

“What did you tell her?”

“We've been ready for weeks.”

“We've been ready for years.”

Connor had been at this winery, working with my aunt, since he'd graduated from UC Davis with a degree in viniculture.

“You know this invitation belongs to you more than me,” I said. “It's your victory. Not mine. Congratulations.”

“This is for all of us. Hayley too.”

“How's she doing?”

“Taking on more responsibility all the time. I really don't need to watch her anymore. She took care of most of the details for the festival.”

Connor filled me in on the wines we were entering into
the competition until Hayley bounded up the outside steps and joined us in the kitchen.

“The last of the cases are loaded on the truck and ready to go.” She ran her hands through her hair. “Marvin's going to wish he'd kept his mouth shut.”

Marvin had remarked the smaller wineries shouldn't be allowed to compete in the festival tasting. Ever since, Hayley had been anxious for the time when Martinelli and Joyeux could compete taste to taste.

“I need to get over to Martinelli Winery,” Hayley said.

Connor stood and stretched. “Give me ten minutes and I'll come with you.” He walked down the path, back to the winery office.

Hayley came over to stand next to me. Moments later she nudged me in the ribs. “Nice view.”