Ripe for Murder Page 9

  “As a matter of fact,” Antonia smiled, “we’re on our way to do a little wine tasting right now.” She stepped around him and signaled for me to follow. “Good day, Chief Harding.”

  I waited until he was out of earshot. “Why were you so nice? I have zero confidence in that man. He’s made up his mind about Chantal, and I don’t think he’s going to do anything to find someone else.”

  Antonia nodded. “I agree. He doesn’t strike me as particularly bright. However, antagonizing him at this particular moment does nothing to help us. Going to Berninni will.”

  “I know we’re mainly going to look for clues, but I’m telling you right now I’m having a glass of something when we get there.”

  Antonia nodded. “You and me both.”

  Eleven

  “YOU are now standing seventy feet underground.”

  “Olympio, I can’t thank you enough for this private tour,” Antonia said. “And after the commotion we caused during our last visit.”

  “Believe me, madam, it’s my pleasure to share with you the secrets of my winery. I’m sure I can trust you not to use them against me.”

  If Olympio trusted Antonia with any secret that might benefit her winery, he didn’t know Antonia at all. I caught his smile and realized he had no intention of sharing any information proprietary to Berninni Winery. Vintners were a closed lot and carefully guarded their expertise and knowledge, especially from one another.

  The door to the wine cave was just a few steps behind me. “How can we be so far underground that quickly?”

  “You can’t tell when looking at the front of the winery,” Olympio said, “but the hill rises sharply behind the buildings. It gives us direct access to this naturally air-conditioned environment. My grandparents built here for that specific reason.”

  We walked behind Olympio, following the track of dim overhead lights that ran down the center of the arched cave. Tunnels several yards wide, and high enough to stand in, branched off from the center aisle. All of these were lined with oak barrels.

  Olympio walked to the wall and ran his hand down its length. “Feel it. It’s volcanic rock, from our Mount Saint Helena. She’s friendly at the moment, but once, this valley was covered in volcanic ash. It was also underwater at one point. That combination is what gave us our terroir, our soil, which is unlike anywhere else.”

  Antonia sniffed. “Yes, well, just because you have soil unlike anywhere else doesn’t mean it’s the only soil that grows great wine grapes. Nor is it the only factor. Some would say the combination of weather we have along the central coast, foggy mornings and hot summer days, gives us the edge in producing excellent wine. Some would say you just got an earlier start.”

  Olympio laughed and took Antonia’s hand. “Please, my lovely guest, let us for the moment agree that we both produce exceptional wine.”

  “Yes, I can certainly agree to that.”

  I walked to the wall, running my hand over the uneven surface. “This is so rough. How were all of these tunnels built, by dynamite?”

  “It was impossible to use dynamite, because volcanic rock shatters when you try. No, these were all dug by hand. The account I’ve heard is that after the railways were completed, there was a surplus of Chinese labor. They weren’t wanted in America and were poorly paid. Some of them found work digging these tunnels.” Olympio shook his head. “Not work to be taken lightly. Hard, backbreaking work. Not the finest hour in the story of California. Still, they completed something truly remarkable here, and helped shape the history of this region.”

  “I take it the temperature remains consistent,” I said.

  “Always within a couple of degrees of sixty-four, even on the hottest days.” Olympio walked to the wall. “Let me show you something.” He reached for a switch, and a moment later we were plunged into complete darkness.

  It was so dark I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. The silence was deeper than any I’d ever known.

  “Antonia, where are you?” My voice sounded muffled.

  “I haven’t moved, but where have you gone off to?”

  “She hasn’t moved either,” Olympio said. “It’s the walls. This substance deadens sound. Without visual references, the impact is stronger, which is why you didn’t notice it before. You could be down here for days, and no one would ever hear you.”

  “Lovely thought,” Antonia said. “Olympio, come stand by me.”

  “I must turn the light back on first. Otherwise, I would have a hard time finding it again.”

  “Then, by all means, please feel free to turn the lights back on,” I said. “This is giving me the willies.”

  “No problem.” Olympio threw the switch, but the faint glow didn’t hold the charm of moments before.

  “My dear.” Olympio peered into my face. “You look pale even in this light.”

  “She hasn’t had the best trip so far, all things considered,” Antonia said.

  “Well, no, I can understand why. We will only talk about other, more pleasant matters.” He took me by the arm, Antonia on his other side. “For example, do you know how the wineries in the Napa Valley survived Prohibition?”

  “Well, I know a big use was medicinal,” I said.

  “Of course, of course.” He winked at me. “Which is exactly the use we will avail ourselves of when we reach the tasting room. Put the bloom back in your cheeks.” He turned to Antonia. “When did your grandfather begin your winery?”

  “Nearly seventy-five years ago.”

  “So you were spared the struggle to survive those years, when drinking even wine was considered illegal.”

  “Oh, please, Olympio. You weren’t around then either. I think you’re perhaps using surviving Prohibition as a way to mention how old your winery is. It’s older than mine. I get it.”

  Olympio clutched his hands to his chest. “My honored guest, I am crushed. That you would think I would for a moment consider your winery less worthy than mine simply because we’ve been around since 1879 and are, in fact, the oldest winery in the Napa Valley . . .”

  “Now I really do need that drink,” Antonia said. “But go on with your story. Medicinal was one use, but that wasn’t the widest use, was it?”

  “No, no. Thank heavens,” Olympio said. “Or perhaps thanks to the church directly. We had the largest national contract to make sacramental wine for the Catholic Church. Many smaller wineries survived this way.”

  We reached the door. “There was one other way most people don’t know about.” He held open the door for us. “Berninni and most of the other wineries sold our grapes during that time. We sold them in packages and on the package was a warning,” he winked at me, “not to be taken seriously, of course. A warning saying that whatever you do, don’t follow the next seven steps in their precise order, otherwise you will be making an alcoholic beverage. What people then did, in the privacy of their own homes, is lost to history.”

  “I had no idea,” I said.

  “And he loves being the one to tell you.” Antonia nodded toward the bar. “Now I, for one, would appreciate having a taste of your family’s efforts.”

  “This way, my lovely guests. This way.”

  We walked between the tourists already well into the day’s tastings. Most stood at tables scattered about the room with tour maps and various brochures spread out in front of them.

  Seth was pouring and Olympio joined him behind the counter. Seth looked the same, wearing another formfitting white shirt with a black apron around his waist. He laughed at something one of the visitors said and poured her a glass of white.

  “Look how personable he is when he needs to be. It’s all just an act,” I said. “I wonder why Olympio keeps him around.”

  “Let’s ask him,” Antonia said as Olympio rejoined us. “Penny’s asked why you have that ‘person’”—she signaled with a nod of her head�
�“in your employment. He is without a doubt one of the most repugnant people I’ve come across in quite some time.”

  “That’s why.” Olympio sighed and nodded across the room. Barb stood adding flowers to a vase in the entry hall. “Her father worked many years for me. I know he would want me to help.”

  “You could keep her on and get rid of him,” I said. “That’s what she needs. A way to support herself and lose him.”

  Olympio nodded. “You are right, of course. That is a solution I’ve offered many times. She won’t do it. She won’t leave him, and I know if I were to fire him she would quit out of misplaced loyalty to him. The lack of income would make it even harder for her in that home.” He sighed. “This way I can keep an eye on her, and on him, at least part of the time. Here, he won’t try anything.”

  “Well, I commend you for trying to make a deplorable situation better,” Antonia said. “Hopefully when Barb is ready to make a positive move, knowing you’re there will make the difference.”

  “I’ll be back in a moment.” I darted my eyes toward the bar and Antonia gave a slight nod. If Seth knew anything, now was a good time to ask.

  He was alone when I reached him. He studied my face for a moment. “I’ve seen you before. You were on the train yesterday, weren’t you?”

  I nodded. “Terrible what happened to Tara.”

  “Yeah.” He grabbed a towel and polished the bar. “What can I get you?”

  I wasn’t going to be put off that easily. “You grew up near her, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her.”

  “Yesterday you sure looked ready to renew acquaintances.”

  He stopped wiping. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “Sure. I’ll have a Merlot.”

  He pulled a bottle out from under the counter and showed me the label. “This is something you can only get here, at the winery.”

  “That’s perfect. I had some yesterday.”

  He paused, bottle in hand. “That’s right. Before the train left yesterday, you were here too. You were in the fight.”

  “I wouldn’t really call it a fight.”

  “The hell it wasn’t. It was you and Tara and that other one, the one in the tight red sweater. The sexy brunette.”

  “It wasn’t a fight.”

  “Sure. Call it whatever you want.”

  “It was a misunderstanding.”

  Seth laughed. “Tara had a lot of those.”

  “So her having fights with people was pretty common?”

  “I thought you said it wasn’t a fight.”

  “Fine,” I said. “Let’s say it was. Did Tara have a lot of them?”

  “You didn’t know Tara before this weekend, did you?”

  “No, I just met her two days ago,” I said.

  “Then what concern is it of yours?”

  “I found her body.”

  That stopped him.

  “A friend of mine might be accused of killing her. I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “Let me guess. Red sweater. I saw them get into it. Then you stepped in.” He pointed across the room. “It started right over there. They really went at it. Wish I’d thought to record it.”

  “For an old friend, you don’t seem very shaken up about Tara’s death.”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen her.”

  I remembered his hand trailing down Tara’s arm. “Still, I know you two used to be pretty close. Yesterday it didn’t look like you would have minded resuming your ‘friendship.’”

  “We had our fun a long time ago. She’s married to the old guy now, or was, and living the life down in Dixie with the king of car dealerships. That’s what was important to her. Being rich. It always was.”

  “Looked to me like you got pretty upset with her yesterday. You didn’t seem to like being called a toy.”

  He froze and flexed his hands, the knuckles white. Behind me, the tourists chatted and glasses clanked.

  I took a breath. “Looked like you wanted to resume right where you two left off, only now she was just messing with you. She didn’t have any real interest. Why would she? You’re still doing the same thing with nothing to show for it.”

  Seth’s face was pale and a faint sheen of sweat covered his upper lip. “Lady, you should stop while you still can.”

  “That’s some temper you’ve got. I wonder if it got away from you yesterday, after Tara rejected you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Seth took a step back. “You think I killed her?”

  “The thought has occurred to me. You could have followed her after she made that toy comment. Maybe you tried again in the caboose to renew your relationship and she didn’t like it. I bet you don’t handle women saying no very well, do you, Seth?”

  “Lady, I don’t know who you are or what you’re playing at, but you better stop. I didn’t kill her. I don’t care what you say. I didn’t kill her, and you don’t have anything to prove I did.”

  I pressed. “If you didn’t kill her, who might have wanted her dead?”

  “Red Sweater’s looking pretty good for it to me.”

  “Chantal didn’t do it. You want me to believe you didn’t either? Give me someone else.”

  Seth stacked glasses for a moment. “I’d start with that husband, or the stepson. They had money on the line. That’s always the best incentive there is. It almost always comes back to money.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy that, but I bet Big Dave had a prenup.”

  Seth laughed. “You really didn’t know Tara, did you? No way would she sign a prenup. I’ve known her my entire life. She’d never sign something like that. Never.”

  Twelve

  “DID you get anything out of him?” Antonia asked when I rejoined her.

  “He swears he didn’t have anything to do with Tara’s death. Of course, he’s not above lying to save his own skin. We should get going, and besides, I’m getting hungry.”

  “Again?”

  “I didn’t eat much at breakfast.”

  “You had biscuits and gravy.”

  “What are you, the breakfast monitor?” My jeans felt a little tight and I avoided my reflection in the window. “I’m hungry. I always get hungry when I travel.” I waved Olympio down. “Can you recommend a good place for lunch?”

  “Ah, you are in luck. The Northern California Dungeness crab season kicks off this weekend. Downtown St. Katrina always celebrates with a crab festival, and all of the restaurants along Main Street make different dishes featuring crab.” He glanced around the tasting room. “I cannot join you, as I hope to be busy here, but our crab is something not to be missed.”

  Antonia sniffed. “Yes, well, you do know we also have crab along the central coast of California as well.”

  “Yes, but our waters are much colder up here. It gives the crab, I don’t know, something special.”

  “So your dirt gives the grapes something extra, and your cold water gives the crabs something special. I’m beginning to think—”

  I wasn’t sure he needed to know what Antonia was thinking. “Olympio, you’ve been a marvelous host, but we are about to overstay our welcome.”

  Olympio smiled at me as he kissed Antonia’s hand. “I would enjoy having the pleasure of comparing our different regions at a later time. As a matter of fact, I would be honored if you would join me for dinner with the rest of your party, say, tomorrow night? We will eat in the cave cellar.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “A special room in the caves where my winery has hosted private dinners over the years. Teddy Roosevelt enjoyed the Berninni hospitality in that same room before he was president.”

  “Humph. Yes, well, that does sound nice,” Antonia said.

/>   “Excellent! Tomorrow at eight.” Olympio held the door and watched as we made our way down the drive and back onto Main Street.

  “He likes you,” I said. “He really does.”

  “What nonsense,” Antonia scoffed, although she glanced back several times.

  The street was full of tourists shopping the boutiques of specialty kitchen gadgets, designer clothes and garden items. Window boxes brimmed with pansies and most of the stores had water bowls out for visiting dogs. Restaurants spilled out onto the street, offering a respite and a glass of crispy Pinot.

  “I really like it here,” I said. “It’s got an old-world feel to it. I love some of these buildings.”

  Antonia nodded. “There was a family of Italian stonemasons who built a lot of them in Napa and Sonoma counties after the San Francisco earthquake in 1906. The entire three blocks of downtown St. Katrina are a designated historical site.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Olympio told me.” Her cheeks reddened. “I suppose he is rather charming. He certainly is proud of this place.”

  “He has every reason to be. You feel the same way about Monterey and Cypress Cove.”

  She nodded. “I suppose that’s true. Now where would you like to eat?”

  We settled on Main Street Hotel, managed to snag an inside window seat, and had just ordered crab fritters and the crab soufflé when I spotted Vance outside the window.

  “Look who’s parking,” I said.

  Antonia turned. “You can’t miss that monstrosity he drives. Of course it’s red. And that license plate: ‘KissMyS.’ Honestly.”

  Vance turned off the car and jumped from the seat. Pulling a mint-and-white-striped sweater out of the back, he started to walk down the street but was stopped by someone I recognized.

  “That’s Bill, the train guy,” I said. “I wonder what they’re doing together.”

  “It’s probably a coincidence, their meeting.”

  “Maybe, but Bill’s got his hand on Vance’s shoulder, and Vance is shaking his head. I wish I could hear them.” I tried the window. “No luck.”