One Foot in the Grape (4 page)

Brice was off the phone and I got a good look. The only man in a suit, he was as out of place as his wife. His hair was slicked straight back, held there with lots of hair gel. The sparkle of his gold bracelet and cuff links was visible from across the room. Francesca was several seats behind me, that amused looked still on her face. She smirked and gave me a phony little finger wave.

I felt my arm shoot up in the air.

Hayley grabbed my other hand. “What are you doing?”

“Not a clue.”

Antonia nodded at me. “Yes, Penny?”

I stood, stalling.

“Penny?”

“Um, I was wondering, when do I officially become vice president?”

Antonia thought for a moment. “I suppose as of now. I haven't been asked that before. Why?”

“I'd like to make a recommendation. I propose all officers are required to actually live in Monterey County. It is, after all, the Monterey County Wine Growers Association.” I turned to face Francesca, now rigid in her chair, the amused smile gone. “It would seem to me being a resident should be an obvious prerequisite for the job.”

Francesca stood. “This is ridiculous. You can't do this.”

Stephen stood. “If Penny isn't the vice president, then I still am, and I second the proposal.”

“I didn't think he had it in him,” Hayley whispered.

Antonia looked over at her son. There was a slight nod of her head as she asked for a show of hands.

“Good job. The majority agree with you, although”—Hayley turned over her shoulder—“you're getting the evil eye from Francesca.”

It was a dark look indeed that Francesca cast my way. I looked about the room. Todd gave me a smile and a nod of his head, as did several other members.

“That's it, then,” Antonia said. “As I am running unopposed, I will continue as president through the coming year.”

Antonia closed the meeting shortly thereafter. As she passed
by me, she stopped. “As vice president, you're now cochairing the Autumn Festival, which means I'll see you tomorrow evening at my house to review the schedule, say, around six?”

Right. Already I had regrets.

Connor and Hayley knew everyone, and I was soon alone in the back of the room.

“Well, well. I guess my mother has found another lapdog.” Francesca came up next to me. She lowered her head toward mine. “I don't like being embarrassed, and I don't like you. Stay out of my way.”

I'd met people like her before. Classic bully. At that moment, she reminded me of my previous editor. I moved close enough to feel her breathing. We locked eyes.

“You don't like me? Good. I must be doing something right.” Anger warmed my face. I wanted to grab that little bun and give it a good twist. “I bet you get a lot of opportunities in your line of business to treat people like dirt. Don't try it here. Not on me.”

“Watch yourself. I'm capable of more than you think.”

Could she be responsible for the events at Martinelli Winery?

“Really? Tell me exactly what you're capable of, Francesca, because I'd really like to hear. I know you wanted to take over your mother's winery and show you're capable of running it. Guess what. You aren't going to get that chance. Too bad.”

Francesca turned white. Her lipstick crept into the tight lines around her mouth. “My mother will regret her decision. Stephen is a fool.” She took a breath. “My advice to you is you shouldn't get involved in something you know nothing about.”

I shook my head. “I don't think I'll be taking any advice
from you. Not now or any time in the future.” I paused. “So, you've made it pretty clear you hope your brother fails. What exactly would you do to make sure that happens? Tell me, Francesca, just how far are you prepared to go?”

Francesca moved back. “I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Just stay out of my way.”

I
TOLD
Hayley and Connor about Francesca's remarks on the way home. The perfect responses, far too late to be useful, filled my thoughts deep into the night. As a result I woke up late, tired and more irritated than usual.

The jeans and sweater from last night went back on and I had my first cup of coffee in hand when I walked past the front door. There was a girl I didn't recognize about to press the bell.

I should just hang a sign down at the front gate: “Solicitors Welcome! This Way!”
I motioned that whatever it was, I didn't want any, and she started to knock. She had spunk. I sighed and opened the door.

“Hi, my name's Sylvia. I work for the
Monterey Centennial
and I want to write an article on your winery.” She spoke around a retainer, and her enormous smile told me this was probably the first time she'd been able to say that to anyone.
She wore a yellow sundress and had long blonde hair caught back with a white headband. She held a reporter's notepad. Probably an intern. Still, we're a small winery. Free publicity wasn't to be turned down. Sylvia reached into her yellow shoulder bag and pulled out a full box of business cards, enough to last about a semester. She practically shook when she handed me one, excited as could be to give one to somebody besides her mother.

I took the card and stuck it in the back pocket of my jeans. “Sylvia, how many wineries have you written about?”

“You'll be the first.”

“How many have you asked?”

She chewed on the inside of her lip. “It's kinda funny, now that you mention it. I thought everyone would want to talk to me, you know? But everybody's been too busy.”

I looked at her. “When did you set out to get this interview?”

“Last week.”

“Your timing needs a little work. Wineries focus on the harvest this time of year. Give me a call in a couple of weeks and I'll give you all the time you need for an article.”

After Sylvia left, I ate a bagel and mulled over last night's exchange with Francesca. I was expected at Martinelli Winery that evening to discuss the festival. In the meantime, I was caught up on the ledgers and wasn't needed at the winery. Connor and Hayley would be busy and unlikely to get a break before nightfall, so I was free for the day.

Francesca had gone to Layton Law School. I decided that would be my first stop and managed to get myself out the door a short time later.

My car was already twenty years old when I discovered it under a tarp behind a neighbor's house. I don't know how the
1963 Jaguar XK-E Roadster made it to Northern California, but the owner thought I was doing her a favor when I offered her nineteen hundred dollars for it, a lot of money back when I was a teenager waiting tables. Sure, it was filthy and needed paint, new tires and a major tune-up, plus the windows wouldn't roll down. The body was mint, the leather interior was perfect, and she handled like a dream. It's the only car I've ever owned, and I still get a thrill every time I start the engine.

The drive went too quickly, as it always does when you're fortunate enough to be on this stretch of Highway 1. I left the ocean behind, parked in the Layton lot, and decided to start at the library. They'd have back issues of the yearbooks and most kept some current information on alumni. Hopefully they'd share it.

The school was busy, students everywhere, but when I tried the library door it was locked. There was a sign in the window that announced it was closed for an earthquake retrofit. Most of the public buildings over a certain age in California needed to have this done. With any luck we'd never have to find out if it actually worked.

The school administration office would be the next place to find information on a graduate. I pulled open the doors and tried to figure out what to say. I try not to lie if I can help it. If I don't, though, it's almost impossible to get people to tell you things they had no business telling you. Besides, lying comes naturally to me. I'm not proud of it, but there it is.

I walked in and looked around. The office was drab and gray, the same standard school administration office found everywhere. The linoleum, the walls, the two ladies that sat
there with piles of paperwork, all gray. The one nearest me looked up from her work, peered over her bifocals and sighed. “It's Sunday. We're officially closed.”

“Oh. Well, since I'm here do you mind if I ask you a quick question?”

She just looked at me.

No great burst of inspiration. I had nothing. “Ah, I was wondering how much longer the library would be closed?”

“Several weeks. They tried to get the retrofit done during the summer. Now they'll be lucky to get it done by the end of the year.” She paused. “You can't be a student here, or you'd know about the library. That's all anyone's been talking about.”

“No, that's right. I was just wondering where I could learn more about the school.”

She leaned toward me, over her paperwork. “Why?”

Right. Why. “My name's Sylvia, and I'm from the
Monterey Centennial
.”

I pulled Sylvia's card from my back pocket and slid it across the counter. This was an easy one. I even had identification.

Gray Lady sighed again and shuffled over to the counter. “Yes?” Her name tag read “Ethel.” No kidding.

“The paper is starting a new column on nationally recognized institutions and businesses that have been around for at least one hundred years. We're calling it ‘The Sensational Centennials
.
' Sort of a play on our own name, you know?”

It's shameful how I come up with this stuff. Ethel just gave me a blank look.

“Well, anyway, we decided it would be great to start the column with a story on our very own Layton Law School.”

Again with the sigh. “How can I help you?”

“Would it be possible to take a peek in the library, at the school archives, just to get information on the history of the school? I'd also love to feature comments from some of the local graduates.”

Ethel gestured toward a room to the rear of the administration area. The odor of mothballs floated across the counter. “You don't need the library. You'll probably find everything you want in there. Old pictures, school curriculum, yearbooks, that kind of stuff. We even have letters from Layton to his father, asking for money to establish the school.”

“I'm sure I'll find everything I need there. Thanks so much for your help.” I picked up my bag and walked around the end of the counter. After Ethel motioned me into the proper room and I was left on my own, I searched the shelves and found the yearbooks from the mid to late 1990s. The classes were small and Francesca's picture was in the fourth book, 1998. She was one of those people who had never been young. Her hair was pulled up in the same tight bun. She was never a pretty girl, but at least nowadays she had style; back then she was just plain. I thumbed through the rest of the book and spotted candid shots of her taken throughout the year—in the library, as a member of the debating team, with her hand raised in class. Under Francesca's picture it stated her goal: “To one day run the largest and most successful winery in Monterey County.”

As I returned the book I scanned the walls and spotted class pictures with the graduates listed underneath. I found 1998 but couldn't find Francesca. I took a second look and scanned the names. No Francesca.

What was going on? I went back out to the office.

Ethel looked up. “Yes?”

“You know, it occurred to me a friend of mine graduated from here in 1998. We lost track of each other years ago, but I'd love to see her again. Does the school have any way to get in touch with its graduates?”

She looked over her glasses. “Sure they do, but it's just for graduates.”

“Oh.” I waited.

She sighed. “Maybe I can help you. I was here in '98 and might remember the name.”

“That would be terrific. It's Francesca Martinelli.”

Ethel gave a snort and pulled off her glasses. “She didn't graduate. Not from here, anyway. She was expelled.”

“Really? I can hardly believe it. You don't remember what for, do you?”

“Of course I do. When a student from one of the most prominent families in the area is expelled during finals, you remember. We weren't supposed to know. Of course, we all did. She was kicked out. For cheating.” Ethel turned back to her paperwork. “Never did like her.”

She was finished with me, so I gathered my things and left. Maybe Francesca finished law school elsewhere. Maybe not. I know she still told people she'd gone to Layton. I'd ask Francesca if that could be considered false advertising. She'd know. After all, she was the lawyer.

*   *   *

AT
home I was greeted by the phone ringing and checked the caller ID. Ross Sterling, one of my closest friends.

I grabbed the phone. “Hey.”

“Haven't seen you. Feeling neglected.”

“Me too. I just haven't been to town. How's business?”

“Oh, you know.”

“You're so understated.”

“That's me. The blasé gay.”

Last year Ross, a chef, opened a restaurant called Sterling. He'd opened in the old city hall right in the center of Cypress Cove, a beautiful old structure owned by Antonia. Since her grandfather founded the town, it would be difficult to find real estate she doesn't own. As fate would have it, the second week he was in business, Hollywood's most illustrious leading lady, the one with the big teeth and even bigger—well, you know which one—was quoted in
Restaurant Review
saying
that his salmon bisque was the nectar of the gods, or something like that. Now he was booked ahead for six months, and it was considered the best restaurant in town.

“Before I forget, Thomas says we need more of your postcards in the store.”

Two years ago, I introduced him to Thomas, another friend of mine. Thomas now owned the gift store and coffeehouse adjacent to the restaurant, called Beauty and the Bean.
They are perfect together. Both big and gorgeous. When they met, hopes fell and hearts shattered from here to Santa Cruz.

“Glad to hear they're selling well. I can drop them off this afternoon, before I go over to Martinelli Winery. Now that I'm vice president of the MCWGA I get to cochair the festival. Lucky me.”

“Antonia came in for lunch and told me. She has most everything done, though, so don't even think you're going to have any input.”

“Antonia's been running this thing for so long she doesn't need my opinions.”

“Oh, I don't know. Some fresh eyes won't hurt. As for the postcards, you don't need to worry about dropping them off. We can get them tonight at Martinelli Winery.”

“Why have you and Thomas been summoned?” I knew Ross had little patience for Antonia. He said she was the most ostentatious queen he'd ever met, which, coming from him, meant something.

“Well, aside from our booth, Antonia wants me to feed the judges at the festival during the wine competition, as if I didn't have enough to do already. Plus, I'm sure she expects me to bring a little something for tonight.”

“Oh, please. You love showing off your culinary expertise. Plus, there are worse things than having Antonia on your side.”

“I suppose you're right. Anyway I don't want her raising my rent. I promise I'll bring your favorite.”

“The spinach ricotta tart?”

“None other. See you tonight.”

I rang off and spent the rest of the morning with my stock of prints and postcards.

*   *   *

IT
was early afternoon when the door slammed behind me.

Connor walked in. “Do you still have the ledger in here?”

I nodded and pointed at the book on the desk. He walked over and took a seat. He skipped through the pages and added entries. Connor is very structured, and it shows in the records he keeps. Every expense as well as technique is recorded
there, which proves invaluable come planting season or tax time.

In a decidedly different approach to life, I couldn't be less organized. Connor likes a game plan, while I trust my instincts. Connor looks at morning glories and thinks cutting back. I don't prune any more than necessary, and barely even then. Hayley is pretty much in between us. I couldn't imagine the winery without either one of them.

I walked to the desk, looked over his shoulder and checked how many tons of grapes we'd brought in. So far it was a good year. Hayley came through the back door.

I looked at both of them. “We have an hour before we need to leave for the Martinellis'. Care for a glass of Cabernet?”

Hayley smiled. “Sure. Just don't tell the boss.” She paused and looked at her watch. “Do I really need to be there tonight? I sort of made a date.”

“Okay, putting aside that I want to hear about this date, it was your idea I run for office. If I need to be there, I won't be there alone. Besides, you need to know the schedule of the festival as much as we do. Can you go out later?”