One Foot in the Grape (23 page)

I
SPENT
the rest of the morning with Connor and Hayley in the booth.

Lucas stopped by and asked how I was, but anyone could tell he was there to see Hayley. He gave her a hug and smiled. “I'm allowed. Off duty.”

“Did your guys find anything to help figure out who was shooting at us last night?”

Lucas started to shake his head.

I grabbed his arm and held his gaze. “The thing is, I'm a little spooked. Anything you can tell me would be nice to know.”

Lucas started to rub his eyes, something the men in my life seem to do a lot. “Penny, even if we were going to have that conversation, do you think this is the place?”

I looked around. Pretty much every suspect was within two hundred yards of where we stood. “Yeah, okay. I get it. I could come down to the station . . .”

“You're fine here. It wouldn't hurt you to stay put for a change. For now, mind if I borrow your assistant manager for a while?”

“Sure. Go enjoy yourselves. Don't mind me. I'll just try to stay alive in the meantime.”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “Go ahead, Hayley. Penny can stay here and help me. We've got enough out for the rest of the afternoon, if you want to take longer.”

“Thanks, Connor.” Hayley looked at Lucas. “I know he's got the afternoon shift, so either way, I'll be back.”

They looked so happy together and Hayley deserved the time off. My irritation passed. “Go have some fun.” Lucas was doing what he could.

Lucas leaned toward me as he passed by and whispered, “Red high heels are hell to wear through the woods at night.”

“Maybe they weren't being worn. Maybe they were just dropped.”

“Maybe.”

“Thanks.”

“You've earned the right to know. Anyway”—he smiled at Hayley—“I almost feel like you're sort of family . . . more than Hayley's aunt, sort of an older . . .”

The smile froze on my face.

“Not that you look old . . .”

“Skip it.”

Lucas, with wisdom beyond his years, grabbed Hayley and disappeared into the crowd.

Connor was laughing.

“I didn't want to hear the next words out of his mouth. If they included the word ‘old,' then he can keep them to himself, in my opinion.”

“Well, if that's your opinion, then you stick with it.”

“You aren't funny. Hayley's only twelve years younger than me. That isn't all that much. I mean, we like the same music, the same designers. We even have the same hairstylist.”

“The same silver streaks . . .”

“Don't even go there.”

Still laughing, he turned toward the counter and a group that approached the booth.

I could still see Chantal in that red dress yesterday as she danced with Thomas, her brunette hair gleaming in the sun. She'd worn red heels.

“Penny!”

Startled, I looked over at Connor.

“You think maybe you could help me over here?”

There was a crowd of tourists surrounding our booth, all decked out in the same shorts and hats and with the same cameras. There was one guy up front waving a tall plastic sunflower around. The tour guide.

“Ah, sure. Sorry.” Over the next several hours we were kept busy. Connor and I were as much an attraction as the wine. They were fascinated that we actually grew the grapes that made the wine they were buying. And drinking. With a heavy hand.

I looked around the booth. We'd brought more than we'd hoped to sell and had gone through almost all of it. A winery is never an easy business, and it's one you go into as much for love as money. The smile on Connor's face left any words unnecessary.

Things were decidedly looser than the day before. The music was loud and dancers shed outer clothing in spite of the chill in the air. The sky had darkened and clouds were rolling in. I pulled a strand of hair over my shoulder. It looked like a
corkscrew. Rain was definitely on the way. Hopefully it'd hold off until after the awards ceremony this evening.

Hayley returned happy and relaxed. Lucas left the festival and Hayley's eyes followed him as he made his way through the crowd.

Connor was next to me. “Want to grab a late lunch? Hayley can handle the buyers now. Besides, we don't have much left.”

“Let's go.”

“Hayley, you know what to do.” Connor grabbed a half bottle of last year's Chardonnay off the counter. Quiche Lorraine from Sterling completed the meal, and we moved to the same table we'd eaten at the day before. Connor took his jacket off and offered it to me as we sat.

I took a bite of the quiche. “I don't know if I'm just hungry or if this is amazingly good.”

“I think it's just the company.”

It caught me off guard. “Thanks.”

There was a twinkle in his eyes. “I meant
my
company.”

I swatted him on the shoulder and went back to watching the crowds, now separated into two groups: the ones still dancing on the center stage and those beginning to make their way to the large tent where the awards ceremony was to be held.

I glanced at my watch. “Just a couple of hours before the end of the festival.”

Connor nodded. “I wonder how this will turn out, especially for Martinelli. There isn't a year I can remember that they didn't dominate. We've got three wines entered, and at the risk of sounding immodest, they're really strong vintages. Still, it's rare for a first-year entry to win.” He shrugged, but I could feel his excitement. It was contagious.

“Don't count yourself short. If anyone can pull off a first-year win, it's you.”

“It's
us
.”

The breeze was stronger now. I pulled the jacket closer to me.

“Cold?”

“Just a bit. I think they're going to be glad they've put up the tent.” I raised my glass. “I wouldn't want you to get wet while accepting the award for this.”

W
HEN
we returned to the booth, Hayley had finished packing up the few cases left. She handed me a small pile of postcards. “These sold as well as anything else at the festival.”

“I need to get back into the fields and get some new shots.” I looked at the pictures. Again, the shot of the Martinelli Winery was on top and again, the feeling returned that I couldn't see something that was right in front of me.

I raised my eyes to the top of the hill, toward the same view as the picture. The time of day was different. In the dusk there was a glow of lights from the windows. The weather was certainly different, the glorious blue of the sky in the print now replaced with dark, ominous clouds hovering over the winery.

The wind whipped the flags on top of the tents, bringing
me back to the present. “Come on. Let's get in and grab some good seats.”

“Penny's right,” Connor said. “We can wait and come back tomorrow to clean out the booth. Most people are doing that.”

I looked around. The dancing had stopped and there was music from the main tent. Ross was busy in the Sterling booth, having the oven and roaster to contend with, but the remainder of the booths were completely empty. We needed to get inside. Ross was thinking along the same lines and shouted that Thomas had saved seats for all of us.

The three of us walked into the brightly lit tent, with its cheerful stripes and garlands of grapevines twirled around the supporting posts and the canopy of the center stage. The ceiling was completely hidden behind bunches of oversized grapes and leaves that draped above the crowd. The effect was that I had somehow shrunk and was out in the fields under the vines. The wind outside made the contrasting warmth all the more welcome, as did the beat of the rain, big drops that hit the ground right outside the tent.

Connor looked back over his shoulder. “Just made it.”

Thomas waved at us from the fourth row and we worked our way through the crowd. It took some time, as other winery managers and owners stopped us along the way, some to talk about the festival in general and others to ask if we were finished with our harvest. It was a friendly competition, unlike some of the other awards wineries vied for, and the conversation was amicable.

We managed to get to our seats just as the lights dimmed. The judges were seated to the left of the stage, and to the right a table held numerous trophies and ribbons.

While the judges introduced themselves, I scanned the program. We were entered in three categories: Best in Cabernet, Best in Syrah and Best New Entry. The first two were long shots, and would likely go to one of the larger wineries. Best New Entry was our strongest chance to walk away with a trophy.

The judges began the presentations, going through the list of white wines first. Stephen was in the second row, with Veronica on one side and Chantal on the other. Veronica leaned forward, toward the stage, but Chantal tugged at a strand of her hair and scanned the crowd. She perked right up when she glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Connor. She tossed her hair and gave him a little finger wave. Connor nodded in her direction then studied the program.

I leaned over. “Something interesting in the program?”

“Not interesting, but certainly less trouble.”

Antonia stood to the side of the stage. Her long black dress appeared blue with the stage lights. Her gaze rested on something at the back of the tent. I turned my head and looked down the row. Near the entrance Francesca stood several feet from Brice.

I watched Brice, the successful doctor, ever in control, even now. I wasn't sure how he managed to be in the same room with his wife, his mother-in-law and the sister-in-law he seduced, and still look smug and arrogant.

Francesca studied the judges and ignored him. She didn't have any wines up there yet, but her jaw was set as she watched the results and took notes.

The presence of these six people occupied my thoughts and I missed most of the program until I heard the winner called for Best New Entry—a small winery also here on a first-year
invite. Not as new as us and, in my opinion, not as good. I looked at Hayley. She wore the disappointment on her face and I grabbed her hand.

“I feel like I've let you down,” she said.

“Nonsense. Some of this is purely personal opinion, and it just wasn't our day.” I hoped this was true and looked at Connor for support.

“Penny's right. We'll get them next time.”

I listened to their gracious acceptance and watched as they made their way to the edge of the stage. As the final award of Best in Show was collected by another winery of long standing, I realized Martinelli Winery hadn't picked up a single recognition.

The slump in Stephen's shoulders was visible, but even more obvious was the change in Veronica. She was tense before; now she was rigid. As she turned away from Stephen, anger was evident in the set of her jaw and clamped lips.

There was anger in Antonia's face as well, but the greater emotion was disappointment. She was pale and leaned heavily on her cane. A man in the front row stood to offer her his seat, and she waved him away with her cane. The only Martinelli who seemed happy with the outcome was Francesca. She smiled at Antonia, but it was a sour smile and her eyes were hard. Granted, leaving Stephen the winery simply because he was the eldest male was completely outdated and, in light of the winery's performance, a bad decision, but Francesca seemed to relish the pain of her family. She deserved to be married to Brice.

Antonia moved toward us as we made our way to the aisle. Stephen, Veronica and Chantal pushed their way through the crowds as well and all of us met at the same spot. The seven
of us stood for a moment before Connor and Stephen spoke at once.

“Tough to win the first year in . . .”

“Don't let it get to you; next year's around the corner . . .”

I studied Stephen and actually, he didn't look bad. He looked almost happy. Relieved. I guess it was better, even with disappointing results, to have the competition behind him. In contrast, Veronica looked pale and still. She moved to the edge of the group and didn't seem to follow the conversation. Chantal looked unconcerned and, as usual, beautiful in a red pashmina cape.

“Come back to the house with us,” Antonia said.

“Yes, you must.” Chantal pushed past me to stand near Connor. She managed to step on my foot and the heel of her stiletto dug into me. I looked down. Red.

“Ouch!”

“Oh, sorry. Was that your foot?”

“No. Just my last nerve.”

Chantal looked back at me. “Huh?”

I shook my head. “Never mind.” Connor's eyes twinkled. Laugh it up, funny boy.

“Antonia, I'm sure they're anxious to get home. We're all tired.” Veronica tugged at her pearls.

Antonia looked at her. “If you're tired, feel free to go to bed once we're home. I'm not tired, and stop speaking for them.” She looked at the three of us. “Come for a glass, although”—she glanced at Stephen—“with results like this, maybe you should bring the wine.”

Stephen froze at the remark, the relaxed look of a moment earlier now gone.

Veronica gasped. “It was a tough day for all of us. I'm sure now is not the time to be pointing fingers.”

Antonia waved her away with a pale hand. “I've heard enough. We'll pull out an earlier vintage, one fitting the occasion, and toast the success of Joyeux Winery.”

“But we didn't win anything,” I said.

“You competed well. Your time will come.”

Hayley declined the invitation, choosing to stay with several managers still at the festival, and the rest of us made our way to the entrance of the tent. The rain was light at the moment, and we stood watching it fall on the empty fairgrounds.

“We can't walk up the path. Connor and I both have cars here, but I can only fit one more,” I said.

“My car is here as well,” Veronica said.

Chantal still held on to Connor's arm. “I'll ride in the truck with you, though it may be a tight squeeze.”

I'd like to give her a tight squeeze. Around the throat.

“I'll ride with Connor. Chantal, you ride with Veronica.” Antonia glanced over at me, and I smiled.

“Stephen, how about riding with me?” I asked.

Stephen mumbled something that could have been “sure” and walked off toward the parking lot.

Connor walked out beside me. “I'll wait for you at the parking entrance.”

I nodded and caught up to Stephen. As we left the parking lot, Connor pulled in behind me to follow us up the hill.

When we were on the main road I looked over at Stephen. He kept his eyes straight ahead, his shoulders stiff. I only had a few moments alone with him but didn't know where to begin.
The silence was punctuated by the rhythm of raindrops against the car roof.

“I'm sure Connor is right and next year will be better.”

Stephen snorted.

I took this as encouragement to continue, primarily because I wanted to. “Don't you think your results will be different next year?”

“Oh, you can believe me when I say it'll be more of the same, especially now that Marvin is gone.” He shrugged. “I'm already dreading it.”

“So why do it? I mean it. If you really don't want to do this, you shouldn't.”

He turned his face toward me. “When someone you've been wanting approval from your entire life believes you can do something, wants to give you a chance to do something, whether or not you actually want to do it doesn't come into play.”

Stephen had already said more than he ever had to me. We only had a few minutes more in the car.

I waited.

“I've tried, but the reality is, I'm just not cut out for this. Never was. Mother insisted on leaving me the winery. Did she ever ask me? No.”

“She must have thought you were capable. Antonia would never do anything to the detriment of the winery.”

“No, she wouldn't. Only to the detriment of her children.”

“Antonia wouldn't want you to run the winery if you don't want to. In her own way, she wants you to be happy.”

He threw up his hands. “I get it, but it isn't that easy. She has a mental block about leaving the winery to the oldest male
because of some ancient history with my grandfather, and I'm stuck with my future handed to me.”

We turned in to the driveway and Connor pulled in beside me. Ahead of us, Veronica and Chantal had parked and were out of the car. Stephen grew quiet but he was agitated. We watched as Connor offered his arm to Antonia for support and Chantal quickly claimed his other side.

I got out of the car and walked to the other side, waiting for Stephen.

Connor looked over his shoulder.

I waved him ahead. “Get Antonia out of the rain.”

He nodded and turned toward the house.

Stephen pulled himself from the car and began to walk away from the house, toward the fermentation building.

Veronica ran to him and pulled him to where I stood. “What were you two talking about?”

“Just the festival and the awards results.” I watched Connor help Antonia up the wet steps. “Next year things will be different for the Martinellis, I'm sure.”

“Of course next year will be different,” Veronica said. “You can't expect Stephen's improvements to have a positive impact the first year. There are always hurdles when changes take place.”

Stephen held up his hand, anger in his eyes. “Veronica, that's enough. I won't do this anymore.”

Once again he turned away. Veronica grabbed him but he shrugged her off. We stood and watched as he threw open the fermentation building door and disappeared inside the building.

Veronica turned to me. “I don't know what you said, but
the least you can do is help make it right.” She turned and walked after Stephen.

I looked back at the house. Connor would assume we were right behind him. I wasn't sure how this was my fault, or what I'd say to make it better, but I was determined to hear the conversation between Veronica and Stephen, clearly a long time coming.

I hurried to the entrance of the building, stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The raised voices led me to the rear of the room, dim in the soft florescent light. When I saw Stephen I stopped. His hands were in front of his chest, palms pressed together, as though he prayed, pleaded, for Veronica to understand.

Veronica's voice reverberated through the building, high and shrill. “What do you mean you don't want to do this anymore? You have a chance to run one of the largest wineries in California and you want to turn it down? What exactly do you plan on doing instead?”

Stephen reached for her. “Veronica, I've given this a lot of thought. I want to do something else with my life.”

Veronica pushed at him and turned away. “What else are you trained to do? Nothing, that's what. You were born to do this.” She turned again to take his hands. “
We
were born to do this.”