Ripe for Murder Page 4

  “This isn’t a destination thing. It’s supposed to be leisurely so you can enjoy the countryside.” I gestured out the window. “This is something people travel from all over the world to see.”

  The sky was vibrant blue and capped rolling vineyards of Cabernet grapes, their leaves a blaze of yellows and bronze.

  “This is what we have at our winery.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure it’s all that different.”

  “Of course this is different. You don’t see these at home.” Towering redwood trees marked a forest preserve. “Some of these trees are the oldest living things on earth. You can’t find them anywhere but here.”

  She smirked. “Don’t get so excited. They’re just trees.”

  I stood. “Excuse me.” I pushed past Connor, grabbed my camera from the overhead compartment, and made my way to the rear door. Bill was returning from the caboose and he held the door for me.

  “Be careful when you’re going between cars,” he said. “This train predates the closed-in vestibules, and it takes a little getting used to.”

  He wasn’t kidding. Between the cars the floor shifted, and the sides were blocked by waist-high gates. It took a few moments to get my balance and anticipate the rocking of the train, but when I did, I stepped across the vestibule. The wind was more than I’d expected and it was noisy, but in a pleasant way; the clank of the train had a rhythm and held the promise of new places.

  Standing outside, I felt as if we were going much faster, and the ground flew past beneath me. I put the camera strap over my head and kept a firm grip on the railing. Blocking the sun with my hand, I peered through the window into the car behind us. It was the caboose, and it was being used for storage. Boxes lined the walls, held in place with netting, and dining room chairs were stacked toward the rear. I tried the door, and it opened. A few moments later I was on the back platform, the track rolling past under my feet, leaving a ribbon behind the train and across the valley floor.

  I tried a few shots but at midday the sunlight is too harsh for most landscape photos, especially without any clouds to diffuse the glare.

  After a few attempts and several deep breaths of sweet forest air, I made my way back through the caboose to my seat. A short time later the train rumbled and began to slow. Bill appeared at the front of the car.

  “This is it. Berninni Winery. The oldest winery in the valley. Everybody off.”

  Vance was the first to take advantage of the stop and jumped off the train while it ground to a halt. Chantal’s gaze followed him.

  “I’m surprised you aren’t introducing yourself right now, Chantal,” I said.

  “To him? He’s a boy.” She looked up the aisle. “I think his dad’s a better catch. Either way, I’m looking for a certain type of guy.” The pause hung in the air, as though she was actually waiting for me to ask what type. The way she eyed Connor told me everything I needed to know.

  “You should see if Bill’s single.”

  “The train guy?” Chantal eyed Bill, frowning slightly. “I don’t think we’d have much in common.”

  Antonia pushed past Chantal. “Bill is a major shareholder of this train, and a number of other ventures. I’m getting off. Connor, would you mind grabbing my bag?” Connor and Antonia walked toward the front of the car.

  “Hmm.” Chantal eyed Bill. “Those overalls are kinda cute, actually.”

  She started up the aisle, and I followed. We were at the front as Big Dave stepped into the aisle. Tara was still in the window seat.

  “Wait, Davey.” Tara rolled it around in her mouth again, and I bit my lip. “I just need a bit of fixin’ up.” After digging around in her Gucci bag, she pulled out a small vial and twisted the cap. The strong scent of gardenias drifted through the cabin as she dabbed it on her wrists.

  “Pretty easy to tell you haven’t done much of this, have you?” Chantal glared at Tara. “You never wear perfume or cologne when you’re going wine tasting. It ruins the wine’s aroma, not only for you but for everyone in the room.”

  I rolled my eyes. Chantal had never shown a scrap of interest in her family’s business. Now suddenly she’s Miss Proper Wine Etiquette. Tara glanced up, then took a second look.

  Big Dave still blocked the aisle, not that I would have left. Chantal might have met her match in Tara, and I, for one, was going to stick around and find out.

  Tara eyed Chantal, taking in the red sweater, the lush ponytail draped over Chantal’s shoulder, and those Martinelli green eyes. Slowly Tara replaced the perfume and pulled out a lipstick. “Who are you?”

  “Chantal Martinelli, of Martinelli Winery. We own the largest winery on the central California coast.” Chantal nodded out the window at Antonia. “That’s my mother.”

  “So, technically,” Tara paused to smack newly painted lips, “your mother’s the owner. Now isn’t that right?” Tara stood and they eyed each other.

  I thought Chantal was going to explode, but when she spoke, her voice was soft. “And you are . . .”

  “Tara Duport.” She nodded at Big Dave. “This is my husband, Dave Duport. We own a string of car dealerships throughout the South.” She patted her beehive as Chantal took a step closer.

  The two women glared at each other.

  “So, technically,” Chantal said, “he’s the owner. Now isn’t that about right?”

  Tara’s eyes grew wide, and I thought she was going to slap Chantal.

  Big Dave must have thought so too, because he stepped in between the two of them. “Ladies, ladies, we’re here to have a good time. Come on, darlin’, let’s go have us some fun.”

  I took Chantal by the elbow and steered her around the sputtering Tara. Chantal looked behind her when we’d reached the door and gave Tara her standard finger wave.

  “Boy, is she a piece of cheap goods, huh?” Chantal did a little shoulder bump against me, like now we were the best of buddies. “Compared to her, I look pretty good, right?”

  “Uh, sure.” Compared to Tara, who wouldn’t?

  We walked up the drive to the main entrance of Berninni Winery, still housed in the stone mansion built by the Berninni family at the beginning of the last century. With its original Tiffany windows and lighting fixtures, the building was a landmark in St. Katrina.

  We entered the tasting room located on the ground floor, and I joined Jim and Kim at the bar.

  “What are you trying?” I asked.

  “The sparkling wine,” Kim said. “It tastes just like Champagne.”

  “It basically is. At least they’re made the same way. Champagne is just the name for sparkling wine made in a certain region of France.”

  “Well, this is really good.” Jim clinked his glass against Kim’s. “To us, Kimmie.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss.

  They were sweet. I watched for a couple of seconds, then started to feel lonely. Then like a peeping tom.

  “Okay, I’ll be going.” Get a room already.

  I couldn’t find Antonia, and Connor was in the corner with the winery manager. Chantal stood at the bar and waved me over. So far this trip wasn’t what I’d had in mind, but I joined her.

  “Don’t worry.” She waved a bottle at me. “Water, plain and simple.”

  I nudged in alongside her at the bar. It was crowded and there was loud laughter from the back of the room.

  “Sounds like someone else should consider switching over to water too.”

  Chantal craned her neck to see, a movement that caused every male in the room to shift his gaze in our direction. “It’s that Tara person. She was hitting the mimosas pretty hard on the train. Oh, great.” She tossed her ponytail. “She’s coming our way.”

  I turned toward the giggle.

  Tara held a glass of wine and waved it around. “You seem to know a lot about all this. Why don’t you fill me in?”

  “I’d be happy to
share wine-tasting etiquette with you, but would you follow it? I think I’d be wasting my time.” Great. Chantal was the voice of reason. This wasn’t going to end well.

  “Big Dave mentioned you grew up here,” I said. “You probably did some wine tasting when you were young, didn’t you?”

  Tara swung the glass my way. “Not likely. I grew up here, but on the other side of town. My daddy was a picker, and when your daddy’s a picker, the wineries”—she stopped to empty the glass—“let’s just say the wineries don’t necessarily encourage you to come taste what your daddy’s out back picking.”

  “That must have been difficult.”

  The wine business is a world of extremes, where the haves and have-nots often collide.

  “You don’t know the half of it.” She waved to the waitress from across the room, the bitterness evident in the lines etched around her mouth.

  “Some people have it made.” She glanced at Chantal. “Not everyone is born with a silver wine goblet in their hand.”

  Chantal tossed her hair and took a deep breath, but before she could get a retort out, the waitress arrived.

  “Take Barb, here.” Tara put her arm around the waitress. “Barb and me both attended the same high school. Didn’t we?”

  Barb nodded, filling the glass Tara held out. Barb’s nails were bitten down and looked raw.

  “’Course, we didn’t see much of each other. I was out with the smokers behind the gym, and poor Barb here was always . . .” Tara stopped. “Where did you hang out?”

  Barb’s cheeks reddened and she shrugged her thin shoulders. “Usually the library.”

  Tara studied Barb. “Barb was a pretty little thing back then. Married Seth, the high school quarterback. How’s that going?”

  Barb glanced back to the bar. “Fine. He’s working the bar here. Works part-time on the train tour too. We both do.”

  “Seth’s a bartender? He was the catch of our class.”

  Barb turned to face Tara, a spark in her eyes. “He still is a catch.”

  “Sure, sure. Don’t get upset.” Tara patted her beehive. “Just that back then, he was really something.” Tara took a hard look at Barb. “Hard to believe we were in the same class.”

  “Why is that?”

  Tara laughed. “I’m just fighting back a little harder than you, honey. Other than diamonds, of course, a little bit of makeup and a good hairstylist are a girl’s best friends.”

  “Sure. That and a good surgeon,” Chantal whispered.

  For once I agreed with her. Tara had more plastic in her than a toy factory.

  “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” Barb moved away. “Still say anything you feel like saying.”

  Tara watched Barb go. “It’s done me good so far.” She looked around the room. “How do I get some food?” She looked at Chantal. “They’re pretty chintzy with the portions. You see the itty-bitty snacks? Jeez, a shindig like this, you’d think they’d be a little more generous.”

  Chantal sniffed. “This isn’t supposed to be your lunch, and they aren’t being stingy. The purpose of the crackers and cheese is to cleanse your palate and help you decide how the wine pairs with food.” Chantal turned to me. “Honestly, why am I even bothering?”

  Oh, please. I turned to Tara. “Where’s Big Dave?”

  “He’s around here somewhere.” She spotted him across the room and cupped a hand around her mouth. “Hey, Big Dave, get on over here.”

  The yell startled most of the room. Several people jumped, and the man next to Chantal spilled wine on her sleeve and chest. He started to wipe it off, but his wife swatted his hand away. He began sputtering that he was only trying to be a gentleman, and she was always saying he didn’t know how to act in public half the time. She grabbed his arm and they disappeared into the crowd.

  “Well, this is just great.” Chantal dabbed at her sleeve with a napkin. “This is cashmere.”

  “Relax. It’s red. You can’t even see it.” Tara yelled again, “Big Dave, where are you?”

  People started to back away, and I wanted to crawl under the bar. “Inside voice.”

  Tara turned to me. “What?”

  “Use your inside voice.”

  “Why are you talking to me like I’m a child?”

  I’d had enough. “Because apparently I need to. Do you understand you need to keep your voice down, or should I find a simpler way to say it?”

  Chantal nodded. “Damn straight. This isn’t a honky-tonk dive where you just yell across the room.”

  Without warning, Tara slapped her.

  Chantal gasped.

  I grabbed her by the arm. “Chantal, be the bigger person.”

  “Like hell.”

  Chantal dropped her glass and launched herself at Tara. Tara screamed and threw her own glass of wine. She missed Chantal but managed to get half of it on me. When I’d wiped the wine from my eyes, Chantal had Tara by the hair. She swung her around by the beehive, and Tara went flying into a group of tasters.

  “Get it off! Get it off! For the love of God, somebody get it off!” Chantal danced around the room, flailing her arm. It looked like she was trying to shake off a Pomeranian.

  Tara sat on the ground, screaming, her head covered with her hands, and I realized the Pomeranian was Tara’s hairpiece.

  I grabbed Chantal by the shoulder. “Stop! Let me get it.” I pried at the wig. “It’s tangled in your ring.”

  “I’m going to kill her!” Tara screamed as Big Dave pulled her up off the floor.

  Five

  “THAT’S enough!” Nobody moved as Antonia walked to the center of the room. “Sir, if you would, please take your wife outside.”

  “On my way, ma’am.” Big Dave pulled Tara, still screaming, toward the front door.

  “You.” Antonia pointed at the hairpiece dangling at my side. “Give her back her . . . give her that back.”

  I held the hair by two fingers. “I didn’t start it, you know. She slapped Chantal and it just sort of fell apart from there.”

  Chantal nodded. “That’s exactly what happened. Penny came to my defense.”

  Antonia suppressed a grin. “You came to her defense?”

  “Tara’s drunk and was entirely out of line. You heard her yelling. We all did.” I looked around the room for backup.

  “It’s true.” Barb, the waitress, stood to one side. “Tara was the instigator.”

  The door opened and Connor walked up to me. “What’d I miss? Tara’s out front crying how you and Chantal beat her up. Most of her makeup’s running down her face, and she’s missing half her hair. What the hell’d you do?”

  “Nothing! She slapped Chantal. Chantal went after her, and her hair got caught on Chantal’s ring.”

  “So how did you end up with it?” Connor asked.

  “I got it off Chantal.”

  Chantal walked up. “She came to my defense.”

  “You came to her defense?”

  I shrugged. “Lesser of two evils.”

  Chantal looked puzzled. “Two evil what?”

  Antonia stamped her cane. “Enough! Connor, would you kindly tell that train person, Bill, that we have surely outstayed our welcome at this establishment?”

  “He just reboarded the train to put the finishing touches on lunch. He said to have everyone meet in the dining car.”

  “Would you tell him we’ll be right out? And please take Chantal. Seat her as far from Tara as you possibly can.”

  Antonia turned to the stylish man next to her. “Olympio, we should continue our conversation later, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am for the disruption.”

  Olympio? I caught Antonia’s eye and raised a brow but she ignored me. I studied the man at her side. He had a full head of silver hair and smooth dark skin. Maybe Italian.

  “Indeed, we
should, Antonia. The wine train has been a wonderful addition to the valley, and I cannot say enough about what it’s done for my winery.” His winery?

  He moved in closer. “I would be happy for the invitation to travel to your winery and discover our newfound friendship under more informal terms.”

  Antonia’s cheeks colored. “I’ll call you.”

  He kissed her hand with a slight bow at the waist, and we walked to the front door.

  When we’d stepped outside, I turned to her. “His winery?”

  Antonia blushed even further. “Well, of course. That was Olympio Berninni.”

  “What do you mean, ‘of course’? I didn’t know you knew him.”

  Antonia waved her hand. “I met him years ago when I was still married. I remember him being very nice.”

  “Is his wife still alive?”

  “No, she died the same year as my husband. I think a visit from Olympio would be lovely.”

  “Yes, I can tell by that look in your eyes. Don’t be thinking any saucy thoughts, young lady.”

  Antonia raised herself up. “I’ve known you your entire life, Penelope Lively, but that doesn’t mean I’ll allow impertinence.” She stopped and put her hand on my arm. “However, I want to thank you for defending Chantal. She can be difficult, and I appreciate your interjecting on her behalf.”

  I raised my hands, palms to the sky. “What can I say? This time Chantal really was the innocent party. That Tara is nothing but trouble.”

  We entered the dining car.

  I turned to close the door, and Barb the waitress stood behind me. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. You said you worked on the train, but I didn’t know you were joining our group.”

  She nodded. “We pick it up at Berninni, work lunch, then get dropped back off in the afternoon.” She peered around the train car.

  Tara dabbed at her eyes next to Big Dave in the far corner, while Chantal sat in the back of the compartment talking with Kim and Jim.

  “Looks like things have calmed down for now,” Barb said. “With Tara around, there’s never a shortage of excitement.”