A Tainted Finish: A Sydney McGrath Mystery (4 page)

“He wanted us to meet in person,” he said quietly.

She arched her eyebrows, and he threw up his hands in feigned defeat.

“And I don't like women who smell like B.O. and neoprene or obsess over their gluten and lactose-free diet in over-priced lycra. Spandex is for exercise, not to wear in public. Besides, I have a girlfriend in Buenos Aires. She teaches politics at University.”

“And
she
has a boyfriend who teaches wine marketing at college in Seattle!” said a booming female voice from the kitchen doorway. Sydney turned around to see Charlie filling the door frame with her six-foot tall lankiness and golden hair back-lit by the kitchen light like a lion's mane. She held a phone up. “A boyfriend who left 22 messages on your phone, mind you!” She waved the phone at Sydney.

Olivier stared at her and Charlie tugged on her leggings in an awkward curtsy. “Spandex,” she said. She walked forward and pulled the towel off of Syd's head. Olivier blushed. Charlie ignored him and began to run her fingers through Syd's hair.

“I hope you two had
separate
showers,” she muttered, working knots out of the ends of Syd's long dark tresses. Charlie missed nothing. “Yes, alas. Considering the
Death
I decided to forego the hazing and seduction of interns this year. I spared the young neophyte his mortification. For now.” She winked at Olivier.

“Actually, I think we showered at the same time,” he said, clearly trying to maintain his composure. “Mine was freezing, and with an 80-gallon tank, her’s must have lasted for a half hour. I am Olivier, by the way.” He rose and extended his hand to Charlie.

“Charles. Charmed.” She took his hand and smiled genuinely, with only a hint of suspicion in her squinting eyes. Olivier sat down confidently, and Charlie continued running her fingers through Syd's hair.

“What's this?” Charlie asked, frowning at the bump on Sydney’s head.

“Oh. I passed out in the bathroom.”

“
What?
” Charlie hollered, turning to look her in the eyes.

Syd arched her eyebrows and shook her head.

Charlie wrapped her arms around Syd's head.

“
Fuuuuuck!
” she growled, cradling Syd’s head against her body. She began to slowly rock her. Olivier stared into his hands.

A moment later Syd untangled herself from Charlie and moved to get up. Olivier sprang out of his chair, scraping its legs against the floor.

“
I'm fine!
” she yelled, tossing her hands up in exasperation. She turned and walked into the kitchen. Olivier gasped when he saw a giant blood stain on the back of Sydney’s white bathrobe.

Charlie and Olivier exchanged a look of shock and then they both came to a silent understanding of Syd’s current plight at the same time. Their eyes locked again in silent agreement and collusion. They would work together to help Sydney get through this crisis.

~

Syd and Charlie ended the night with a few slices of pear and some cheese and the rest of the Gewurztraminer from lunch. Syd choked down some pear but couldn't manage the cheese and bread. Charlie offered to heat up the burritos her dad had picked up earlier for the dinner Syd slept through. But she could never have eaten them.

They made plans for the memorial while they ate and Charlie took notes. She would make phone calls in the morning while Syd met up with Jack Bristol, the family lawyer. Syd promised she would be up to it. She also promised to call her boyfriend Marcus the next day, since Charlie was beginning to field all of his calls. He threatened to leave Seattle during his last call and come down the next day. That was the last thing Syd wanted, so Charlie convinced him to wait for Syd to call him in the morning. She told Marcus that Syd was resting after taking Valium. Syd whispered a teary
thank you
as her friend lied to her boyfriend.

“You know, it’s a little weird that you don't want to see him,” Charlie said after hanging up.

“I do want to see him. Just not like
this
.” She gestured at herself, at the train-wreck she had become overnight.

“He’s really concerned,” Charlie said, surprised that she was arguing in favor of Marcus. She was never a big fan of Syd's boyfriend. “He just wants to be here for you.”

“He wants to get closer. He’s been pressuring me to move in and spend more time with him.”

“So soon? But you've only been dating for, what? Six years, Sydney.
Six years!
”

Sydney winced and rested her head on the table. “I know, I know. He’s perfect. I'm an asshole.”

Charlie reached over to stroke her disastrous hair, still damp from the shower.

“Wait a minute. You don't even like Marcus,” Syd said, pushing her hand away.

“He insisted that I tell you how much he loves you too,” she said, shrugging. “He made me promise to say it just now. Yes, he is a pretentious white boy with perfect teeth and perfect hair and an encyclopedic recall of every fucking opera ever made. And he never says
fuck
, by the way, which is weird. You notice that? And he wraps his stadium dogs in the deli sheets like a burrito. He actually
asks
for them. And he doesn't know how to–”

“Okay, I get it. He's not like your dad. He's not like us
.
” she interrupted what could have been an endless litany of Marcus's faults in Charlie's one and only opportunity to catalog them out loud. Normally the subject was out of bounds.

“But you’re in need right now, and he wants to support you. He's working hard at not feeling really hurt that you’ve completely ignored him.”

Syd knew she had a point. Leave it to Charlie to defend someone for whom she is entirely indifferent.

“Honestly, I don't know if he could handle it,” Syd said. “He only met Clarence once, you know. And Clarence was his usual charming self. My life here is so different from my life
there
. I've worked hard to keep it separate.”

“Oh really? I hadn't noticed,” Charlie said, mocking a British accent. Syd rolled her eyes at Charlie, who got up and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Well, it’s all bullshit anyway, Syd,” she bellowed from behind the liquor cabinet. “They all know who you are. You’re in the wine industry, and like it or not your uncle's fame is going to rub off on you. His infamy too.”

“Well, Marcus didn't even know I was related to Clarence for a long time after we met.”

“And when he found out he was weird about it, remember?” Charlie plopped back down in her chair and opened up a bottle of liquor. She took a swig and set it down.

“That's only 'cause he knows Joe Donner,” Syd said. “And Joe hasn't been exactly quiet in building a case against Uncle Clarence. And how was Marcus supposed to know Joe was such a sycophantic prick anyway?” She grabbed the bottle from across the table and took a thirsty pull.

Charlie clapped her hands in mischievous glee. “Bravo!” she said, pleased at the whiskey pull and Syd's rant. She pointed at the bottle and read Whistle Pig Bourbon on the label. She got up and disappeared into the dark kitchen again, returning a moment later with two snifters. She poured the whiskey out and wiped the lip of the bottle with her sweatshirt sleeve out of newfounded reverence.

Each woman swirled the brown liquid from the base of her snifter and buried her nose in the glass. Syd took a deep sniff while Charlie took her famous triple sniff, taking a deep long draw with the last one. Then they took sips.

“Wow,” Charlie said. “A terpene rye. Clove. Fennel. Fresh caramel. French vanilla bean.”

Syd sucked air into a sip she held in her cupped tongue, aspirating the aromas up into her head before swallowing. “Yeah, I get the rye. Marshmallow. Is it
French
vanilla bean? Something herbal too,” she said with a sigh. “You were always better at whiskey than me. How do you even smell it through all that oak and alcohol?”

“You've got wine, I've got spirits,” Charlie said with a wink. She cupped her snifter in her hands to warm it up.

But Charlie was excellent with wine too. She had a remarkable nose, even for a sommelier, and she could rattle off unusual attributes without apology.
Baby Poop
was her nick name in sommelier school, as she called out a particularly stinky Rioja in the first weeks of class. Luckily, it morphed into
Baby
as the months wore on, taking on a new meaning for the tall blonde rock star sommelier. She and Syd were the pinnacle of their class, and each landed an excellent placement in a boutique Seattle restaurant. Charlie had recently garnered modest fame as a somm who specialized in boutique spirits and extraordinary mixology using her home brew of bitters. However, Syd took the traditional route as a quiet sommelier building a reputation for finding excellent craft wines from the Pacific Northwest. Both young women were part of the up-and-coming talent flooding the industry in urban America.

“This is one that Marcus would like,” Syd said, still swirling and smelling for the mysterious terpenes.

“Really? Why's that?”

“Because it's expensive.” They cackled but Syd felt terrible. She winced at the thought of her unkindness. Why was she working so hard to push him away?

“Just promise me you'll call him tomorrow morning. He deserves a call.” Syd nodded obediently, suddenly feeling very tired. A few minutes later Charlie tucked her fragile friend into bed with a Valium and a few minutes of sobbing into one another's hair. They held each other long after the sobbing had stopped, and each could sense the other's mind working on her own pressing dilemmas.

Syd broke away from her suddenly. “You should have seen him, Charlie,” she said, choking out of her tight, painful throat. “He was purple.”

“Dad told me,” she said, pulling Syd back to shoulder and stroking her head. “Kind of poetic, right? He was always stained with wine.”

Syd awoke to the whining of a vacuum cleaner somewhere in the house. It was still early, but Rosa must have already started her Wednesday morning routine. Rosa always began downstairs next to her old bedroom at the crack of dawn. It was a memory so deeply lodged in Syd's mind that she often found herself dreading Wednesday mornings. Her first few weeks away at college she slept in late in secret defiance of the tyranny of an early rising house cleaner. This morning she found the sound of the vacuum deeply comforting and dozed back to sleep to the lulling sounds of the living.

A few minutes later a terrible whining din came from somewhere closer by. Syd woke up startled and grumpily shoved herself out of bed. Some kind of heavy machinery was operating in the kitchen, and people were talking in hushed voices. She dragged herself into the well-lit kitchen.

Rosa was shoving whole carrots into an industrial-sized juicer. Olivier was standing next to her, handing her some apples and sliced ginger. Syd could smell kale and spinach too. Olivier leaned down and said something in Spanish, and Rosa smothered a sad chuckle, apparently trying to keep her voice down. Syd laughed undetected. She approached Rosa from behind and put her arm around her.

“There's no need to whisper,” she said. “I'm awake.”

Rosa turned around and gasped. She hugged Syd with a mother's ferocity.

“
Mi hija, mi hija. Oh, mi hija!
” She trembled against Syd’s chest, squeezing her and patting her back. Syd held her against her and stroked her short black hair. She rocked back and forth with Rosa in slow dance of two women grieving. Syd's nose filled with a deeply familiar smell of Dove soap and bay leaves. Rosa pulled away first and squeezed Syd’s shoulders with her strong hands.

“I make you a juice,” she said in a stiff Mexican accent. She handed Syd a tiny glass of green liquid. Brown foam floated on top of a six-ounce jam jar. Syd grimaced.

“Sí,
comprendo.
Pero it is muy importante that you eat s
omething,
” she shoved the glass against Syd's lips and tipped it into her mouth. Syd had no choice but to drink it. She swallowed obediently while Rosa poured the green-like sludge into her mouth. It wasn't so bad. Still she was thankful that she could finish it in a few gulps.

Olivier stood near the women, watching with interest. He studied their intimacy and was intrigued by the deference that Syd showed Rosa. This tiny Mexican woman had a good deal of influence over her and they clearly cared for each other deeply.

Syd saw him staring and stepped back. She was wearing a black silk slip, which was a little too revealing for the bright light of the kitchen. She blushed, and then grew irritated at her own embarrassment.

“Good morning,” she said coolly.

“Good morning,” he said, looking down. He shifted his weight and reached for a glass of the green goop. His was a pint jar that was filled to the brim. He lifted his glass to Rosa in salutation and downed it without stopping for breath. He gently placed the jar back on the concrete countertop, turned on his heels, and skulked out of the kitchen with feline grace, frowning.

Syd watched him make his way to the winery out the kitchen window. She relaxed. “Thanks, that made my head feel better,” she said to Rosa, who started cleaning the many parts of the juicer. Syd watched Rosa’s familiar plump back in front of the sink. She had missed Rosa, and the sting of her absence over the last few days was fresh.

“Where have you been, Rosa?” Syd asked quietly.

“I have my day off on Monday and Tuesday and Alejandro came by Monday night. Borracho. I don't have no cell phone. I didn't know. And yesterday I stay home. Alejandro tell me to stay home for one day. Now I am here for you.” She was still crying silently, her tears streaming down her cheeks while she washed the machine parts without interruption. Life rarely intervened with the work of the house. Rosa never stopped moving, even for grief. She poured the remaining juice into a mason jar and pushed it across the counter to Syd.

“Drink it all day. You need the medicine. I make this for the
Jefe
every day.” Her voice was untouched by the tears streaming down her face. Syd nodded obediently.

“Your life will never be the same,” she said suddenly turning to face Syd. She pushed a flat palm against Syd's chest. “He is here, next to your mother and father. Your heart will always be heavier.” Rosa had a long history of telling Syd the gravest truths with startling brevity. Syd swallowed a knot in her throat.

“It hurts,” Syd whispered, relieved to express the unexpected physical manifestation of grief. “Like someone hit me.”

“You
have
been hit. We all have. We were preparing but not so soon.” She shook her head angrily. “And I do not believe he did it on purpose.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nada, nada.” She put her hand up and turned away. She held up a jar of green juice. “You drink this today.” Syd watched as Rosa bustled out of the kitchen, lost in a frown and free flowing tears.

Syd stood with her feet bolted to the floor. Rosa's words washed over her in a wave. Her eyes darted to the bowl of heirloom tomatoes on the island counter and the half loaf of bread under a white linen cloth. She stepped toward the kitchen window that looked up at the winery. The giant red doors of the winery were open wide and she could make out the fermenter tanks, even at a distance of nearly a hundred yards. So many wines had not yet finished fermentation; so many still needed pressing. She lingered in the kitchen, looking for proof of Clarence's intentions. Everywhere she looked she found evidence of unfinished business. Still, Rosa's words resonated in her head like a piercing tinnitus. They filled the hole in her chest with sickening doubt.