by Thea Cambert
Alice was seated next to Luke on one side, and Phillipa Rossi, who happened to be the brand manager at the Waxing Moon Winery, on the other. Phillipa was a kindred spirit—a book lover—and was very excited to find out that Alice owned a bookshop. The two talked about their favorite reads, and about everything from wine and honeymoons.
“Waxing Moon is a great place to work,” said Phillipa. “I really believe in our brand. We’re not as large as these other vineyards here today, but we have a nice list and some really special bottles.” She sighed. “What we need to develop is something akin to Emmerson’s essencia. Something spectacular.”
“So, tell me about that wine,” said Alice. “I hear it’s very valuable.”
“Oh, yes,” said Phillipa, nodding. “It’s incredibly rare. And the idea that one could be produced in the Smoky Mountains—well, that’s a true miracle. The original essencia comes from one particular region in Hungary. Conditions have to be just right to produce the noble rot.”
“Noble rot?” Alice made a face.
“Yes, you heard right,” said Phillipa, laughing. “It’s a particular type of fungus that grows on grapes in moist conditions. Like the mists you see across this vineyard in the mornings.”
“Okay,” said Alice slowly. “So you need moisture for noble rot to grow.”
“Right. But if the moisture goes on too long, the crop is ruined. If it dries up at just the right time, that’s when the magic happens. The grapes raisin in the sun with the fungus on them. They have to be hand-picked at exactly the right moment, one at a time.”
“So you can’t just pick a whole bunch that’s got the rot on it?”
“Nope. You have to pick each raisin at exactly the right phase to make an essencia. And then those raisins are put into barrels and are pressed naturally, by their own weight, for oh, about eight years.”
“Eight years!” said Alice.
“But what you are left with is pure magic,” said Phillipa.
Alice watched as the servers moved down the table, taking away dessert plates and replacing them with a single crystal spoon at each place. Alice looked at her spoon—which was also engraved with the Emmerson crest. “What’s this for?” she asked.
“Essencia is not taken in a glass,” said Phillipa. “We’ll each get one heavenly spoonful only.”
“Seriously?”
“Just wait,” said Phillipa with a grin.
As they waited for the essencia to be poured into the crystal spoons, Alice noticed the man she’d seen talking to Forrest Sloan outside earlier. Now that he was closer at hand, Alice could see that along with his very dashing suit, he wore a small silver cup on a chain around his neck.
“Phillipa, why is that man wearing that strange necklace?” Alice asked.
Phillipa looked in the direction Alice was looking and giggled. “That’s Rupert Billings. He’s our lead sommelier at Waxing Moon—an award-winning sommelier, actually. The necklace is called a tastevin. Sommeliers use them to sample wines as they walk through the barrel rooms. Really, these days the tastevin is more of a symbol, but all Waxing Moon sommeliers wear them.”
“And a sommelier is . . .”
“A wine steward. They create wine lists at restaurants, suggest wine pairings . . . they are experts in the field, and a great one on the scale of Rupert Billings is a rare find. We’re lucky to have him.”
Alice watched as Rupert leaned closer to Helena Emmerson, who he was seated next to, to say something quietly—then noticed that Helena blushed, a small smile touching her lips.
Alice turned to Luke. “Just to show you how good I am at reading body language, how much do you want to bet those two are in love?” she whispered.
“Those two?” Luke whispered back, looking at Rupert and Helena. He chuckled. “How can you possibly tell? I think the romance of this place has gotten to you, my love.”
“No, I can always tell when love is in the air,” said Alice sighing. “You’ll see.”
“It’s the big moment,” Phillipa whispered from Alice’s other side. “Time to taste the essencia!”
After a few words from Maximillian Emmerson, everyone raised their crystal spoons and drank the wine. Alice was astonished as her tongue was coated in sweetness. The magical substance had the consistency of honey, and flavor unlike anything Alice had ever experienced—and yet it was familiar.
“Figs? Plums?” Alice wondered.
“I was thinking something like sweet orange,” said Luke. “But whatever it is, this stuff is amazing.”
Suzie, who was seated across the table with Sam, caught Alice’s attention. “What did I tell you?” she said giddily, still savoring the flavor of her spoonful. “To die for!”
Chapter 3
Friday was to be rounded out by a sunset hot air balloon ride, which took off from the vineyard, circled out over the woods and the village of Little Bavaria, then returned to the vineyard. Alice, having never been in a hot air balloon before, was a little nervous at the prospect. The Fabulous Bride Magazine photographer was also, apparently, hesitant to launch himself thousands of feet in the air, so he snapped his photos of Alice and Luke waving from the edge of the basket as they lifted off. Thankfully, as it turned out, Alice loved the sensation of floating silently above the trees, drifting along on the breeze.
The balloon operator, George, turned out to be a big part of what made the experience so enjoyable. Between presenting Alice and Luke with a basket of fine chocolates, cheeses, and grapes, pouring glasses of sweet red port, and telling stories about the things they were seeing on the ground, George managed to relate a lot of the history of the area vineyards.
“I can’t believe we get our own private balloon tour,” said Luke. “This is amazing.”
“Actually,” said George, “there was supposed to be another honeymoon couple here with us. The Youngs?”
“Suzie and Sam!” said Alice. “We’ve met them.”
“They cancelled last minute,” said George. “So you have the sky all to yourselves. Feel free to ask me anything about what you’re seeing on the ground.”
“What can you tell us about the two Emmerson siblings who founded the vineyard?” asked Alice, remembering her conversation with Suzie.
“Ah! That would be Elizabeth and Walton.” George turned on one of the burners and the balloon rose a little higher in the air.
“What were they like?” asked Luke.
“Like-minded in almost every way. They both had the gift for winemaking. It was as though they were born to it. They bought the original land together, and slowly added on and developed their wines over the next few decades.”
“So, why did Elizabeth leave?”
“She married Oliver Sloan. He and Walton didn’t get along. Elizabeth and Oliver decided to branch out, so they sold Elizabeth’s interest in the Emmerson Estate and bought a nearby vineyard that was struggling from a lack of capital. They transformed it, and called it Clear Creek Cellars.”
“Does Clear Creek make an essencia wine like Emmerson?” asked Alice.
“There’s the rub!” said George, chuckling. “No—Clear Creek has never mastered a viable formula. But you see, the two vineyards didn’t start out as rivals. Sure, Elizabeth and her husband decided to create their own brand. But there were no hard feelings, really, between the Emmerson siblings. Then, just before the split took place, Elizabeth had come up with the idea of creating an essencia based on the original, which was created in Hungary. Walton agreed to the idea, because the conditions at the Emmerson estate are unique, even to this region—and conducive to the mysterious and elusive noble rot. After Elizabeth went her own way, Walton assembled a team at his vineyard who landed on a winning formula—and that formula is guarded under lock and key.”
“So, the rivalry between the vineyards arose because the essencia was Elizabeth’s idea, but Walton’s formula,” said Luke. “And Walton had not desired to share his secret.”
“Exactly,” said George. “Now, Emmerson
is famous for that wine, and it’s set them a bit ahead in the game—that and the fact that the Emmerson vineyard was already established before Elizabeth and Oliver Sloan really managed to get Clear Creek off the ground. There’s definitely some lingering resentment in the air between the two.”
“We tried the essencia last night,” said Alice. “We’ve never experienced anything like it.”
“It’s quite unique,” said George, nodding. He turned off both of the burners and the balloon began to sink slowly as they came to the edge of the Emmerson estate, nearing their journey’s end. “It’s actually made from a combination of three sweet grapes. Of course, I don’t know the ratios or the formula, but I can tell you that those grapes right down there—the yellow Muscat—are one of the three varieties the Emmersons use to make their essencia.”
A sudden gust of wind swept in, carrying the balloon a bit higher.
“What was that?” asked Alice, gripping the sides of the basket.
“Just a bit of a breeze,” said George as he took hold of one of the ropes that seemed to steer the balloon. “Bad timing. I was just lining up for our landing field.” He turned various levers on and off. “Luke, can you pull on this chord while I let a little bit of air out?”
“Sure,” said Luke, moving to George’s side of the balloon basket.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get down safely,” said George, giving Alice a comforting smile.
Alice nodded and focused on the ground beneath them. She watched as row after row of Emmerson grapes passed by under them in the dusky evening light, trying not to imagine the balloon being swept suddenly up into the stratosphere, never to return to terra firma.
A sudden movement and a swatch of dark color caught Alice’s eye. Down there, between the two rows of grapevines which were now directly beneath the balloon, she saw it: two people fighting—a man with dark hair wearing the Emmerson colors of deep purple and golden brown and another man in what looked like a black sweat suit with a hood.
“Oh, my gosh!” Alice glanced for a split second at Luke, then looked down again, just in time to see the two men fall onto the ground, fists flying. Alice thought she heard the faint sound of a shot being fired, and the two grew still. Then the hooded figure slowly rose, while the other man lay motionless as the balloon passed over high above. “Luke! Hurry!”
“Alice. What is it?” Luke crossed back over to Alice’s side, jiggling the basket.
“Down there. Can you see the person—I mean . . . Where are they now?”
“Where are who?” asked Luke, frowning down at the ground.
“There was a man—he was shot! Oh my gosh! We have to get down there!”
“Shot? Alice, are you sure?”
“Yes! Between the rows, over that way.” Alice quickly tried to memorize the topography, although they were well past being able to see between the two particular rows where the shooting had happened. She saw a large rock at the end of the rows nearby. “George, how fast can you get us down?”
“I’m on it,” said George, reaching up and pulling on a chord that caused air to leave the balloon.
They sank slowly as they moved along the ground, aiming for the same open field they’d launched from. As soon as they landed, George hopped out of the balloon and hooked a small stepladder onto the outside of the basket. Alice and Luke scurried up the small steps inside the basket and then down the ladder outside.
“We have to hurry!” said Alice, feeling her heart pounding out of her chest. “The person in black will get away!”
Luke and George ran along with Alice until she stopped and looked around, disoriented. “Where is that big stone?” she mumbled.
“We came across the vines from that direction,” said George.
They all ran where George was pointing, and jogged down row after row, looking down each of them while also searching for the large stone Alice had seen.
“Alice, it’s getting dark,” said Luke. “Are you sure it’s this way?”
Alice squinted up ahead and spotted a large stone. “This way!” she said. “I saw that stone from the balloon.”
When they arrived at the stone, they turned and ran down the row of vines. Alice stopped and looked around. Luke and George stopped, too. There was no sound, save the chirping of crickets, tuning up for their evening concert. There was no sign of another person—no sign that anyone had passed this way recently. Alice squinted at the ground, looking for blood or footprints or anything at all . . .
“Luke, I know what I saw,” she said, still catching her breath.
“And what, exactly, was that?” asked Luke.
“There was a person dressed in black. They had a hood on, so I couldn’t tell what they looked like or even for sure whether they were male or female. That person was fighting with a man with dark hair, dressed in an Emmerson uniform. They were sort of rolling around on the ground, and then I think I heard a shot fired. Then the person in black stood up, holding a gun, and the man in the Emmerson uniform stayed on the ground. Luke, he was so still. I think he was dead.” She looked at her husband. “I swear, I saw it, Luke.” She scanned the ground. “Look, the grass is matted down over there. Maybe that’s where it happened.”
“I’m calling the police,” said George. “But I’ll have to go over to the rise to get any reception at all. You stay here so we don’t lose our place.”
After George had run off, Alice turned to Luke, shaking her head, and beginning to feel her whole body tremble. “I know what I saw. Someone died here tonight.”
Chapter 4
Since the Emmerson estate was a bit of a drive from town, it took the police a while to arrive. By the time the cruiser, which had turned off its siren upon entering the estate, pulled up, a small crowd had gathered in the vineyard. The group was comprised of George, Alice, and Luke, along with several Emmerson staff members and Maximillian Emmerson himself. Alice had caught sight of Suzie and Sam standing and watching curiously from a distance, but a moment later, she looked back and they were gone.
The uniformed officer quickly hopped out of the cruiser and set up a bright light in the area where Alice had seen the shooting take place. A second officer walked up and down the rows of vines with a flashlight and a German shepherd. A man wearing khakis and a button-down introduced himself as Detective Mullins and interviewed Alice, Luke, and George, taking notes and looking more and more skeptical as time went on.
“Mrs. Evans, the balloon was pretty high when you say you saw the hooded person shoot the person in the Emmerson uniform. Are you absolutely certain you saw what you think you saw? Could it have been a trick of the light?”
“No, that’s not possible,” said Alice, confused by the question. “I can’t imagine that the light would have any effect on what I saw.”
“And you say you saw a confrontation taking place, but you heard nothing? No yelling? No screaming?”
“I might’ve heard the gunshot,” said Alice.
“Might have?”
“It was faint. We were up pretty high and the balloon was making a lot of noise at the moment, plus there was wind.”
“And neither of you saw this shooting take place or heard anything?” the detective asked, turning to Luke and George, who both shook their heads with apologetic glances toward Alice.
“We were on the other side of the balloon basket, sir,” said Luke.
“There had been a sudden gust, and Mr. Evans was helping me keep the balloon on course,” added George.
“When Alice saw the shooting take place—and I assure you, Detective Mullins, my wife knows what she saw—we hurried over but it was too late. We’d already drifted past the vantage point.”
Helena Emmerson, who had been present earlier, but had left after conferring quietly with the detective and Maximillian, returned just then. “We checked in with every member of the staff. They’re all accounted for,” she said.
“Boys, pack it up,” Detective Mullins said to the two uniformed officers.
&nb
sp; “What? Now?” Alice blurted out, surprised. “But you haven’t found any clues yet. Are you coming back in the morning?”
Detective Mullins stepped closer to Alice. “Mrs. Evans, had you been drinking before seeing what you claim to have seen?”
Alice hesitated. “We’d had a small glass of wine with our cheese and chocolate,” she said. “Detective, I don’t know what you’re implying, but—"
“I’m not implying anything, Mrs. Evans. You say you saw a shooting from a hot air balloon, but you aren’t even sure you heard a shot being fired, and no one else saw anything. You say the victim was wearing the very distinctive Emmerson vineyard uniform, but no staff member is missing. You say this shooting took place here, among these vines . . . “ He pointed to the rows of vines near the large stone. “But there is no blood and—oh yeah—no body!”
“What about that area over there, where the grass is all pressed down?” asked Alice.
“This area right here?” Detective Mullins walked briskly to where Alice was pointing. “This grass?”
Alice nodded.
“Come closer, Mrs. Evans,” said Mullins.
When Alice walked to where he was standing, he squatted near the tamped-down grass. “See this here—this fuzzy stuff caught in this grapevine? That’s the hair of a white-tailed deer. See those droppings over there? Same. If someone had been shot here, there would be blood. The dog would smell it. Now. Rest assured, Mrs. Evans, that if we collect any viable evidence, we will thoroughly investigate this matter. Meanwhile, you should concentrate on enjoying your vacation.” He gave her a curt nod and walked off.
Alice could feel her cheeks burning and was glad it was too dark for anyone else to notice her face turning red. Then she got mad at herself for feeling embarrassed. She’d done nothing wrong, after all, and what kind of person would she be had she not reported what she saw? If someone had actually been shot, they’d be missed eventually, and the burden of responsibility to find the killer would rest on the shoulders of Detective Mullins and his crew. Alice was on her honeymoon. Her only responsibility was to enjoy herself.
