FIRE IN THE VINEYARD
The Wine Lover’s Daughter, Book Three
A Novel
Christa Polkinhorn
Published by Bookworm Press
Copyright © 2018 by Christa Polkinhorn
Visit the author’s website:
www.christa-polkinhorn.com
Cover design: Diane Busch
Cover image: iStock, Andreas Saldavs
OTHER BOOKS BY CHRISTA POLKINHORN:
The Italian Sister
The Wine Lover’s Daughter, Book One
Finding Angelo
The Wine Lover’s Daughter, Book Two
An Uncommon Family
Family Portrait, Book One
Love of a Stonemason
Family Portrait, Book Two
Emilia
Family Portrait, Book Three
Path of Fire
Poems
FIRE IN THE VINEYARD
When bottles of wine disappear from the Segantino Winery and an arson fire kills his close friend, the owner of the estate, Robert Segantino, is faced with the toughest ordeal of his career as winemaker: someone intends to destroy what he has built over the years. As it becomes increasingly clear that members of his staff and of his family are among the suspects, the ambitious wine tycoon is forced to reevaluate his goals in life, and, above all, his relationship to his son and future heir. Part family drama, part suspense, Fire in the Vineyard, the third book in The Wine Lover’s Daughter series, takes the reader on another thrilling adventure through one of California’s wine countries.
For Silvia
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Prologue
“So, where is that gambler you talked about?” George Winter asked, glancing at his watch.
“He'll show up. No worries,” Anton said.
The two friends were sitting at a table on the patio of a bar in San Luis Obispo in California’s Central Coast region, drinking beer. George removed his baseball cap and wiped the sweat from his forehead, then put it back on.
It was a warm and muggy day in March. Dark ominous-looking clouds had gathered in the west. George took a sip of beer, then glanced at the creek in the ravine below the patio. A sudden gust of wind brushed through the trees, making the leaves of the silver birches tremble. The breeze felt invigorating, but almost immediately the oppressive air rushed back. From inside the bar, the clashing of dishes and occasional shouts could be heard.
“Is it going to rain?” George gazed at the sky, then looked down at the creek. Heaps of rotted leaves from the trees that had accumulated in the shallow water gave off a musty smell.
“Sure could use it. This drought sucks big time,” Anton said. “Hey, that’s him!” He waved at someone behind George and called out, “The master gambler.”
George turned around and watched a man step out of the bar onto the patio. He was middle-aged, of medium height, slim and wiry, with sculpted facial features. His dark, curly hair, tinted with gray, was combed back from his face. An overall modest, clean appearance, George felt. The most striking feature was his dark eyes with which he quickly scanned his environment with a guarded look.
“Never was a master,” the man said with a low, dark voice.
“Oh, really?” George observed him curiously, then got up. Anton slapped the man on the back, and George shook hands with him. The man's hand was long, narrow, and firm. George noticed he wore a small cross on a silver chain around his neck. He motioned the guest to sit down. “Would you like a beer or something else?”
The man pulled up a chair. “Corona, please,” he said to the waitress who had joined them. George and Anton reordered Bud Lights.
“I’m George,” Winter introduced himself while waiting for their drinks.
“Norman,” the man said after a brief pause as if he hesitated to give his identity away.
After the waitress brought their drinks, the men took a few sips of beer. George measured the man quizzically, then put his glass down.
“I’m looking for someone to join our small group of card players—poker and some other games,” George said.
Norman shook his head. “I don’t gamble anymore.”
“Oh, it’s not really gambling. It’s just card games between friends. We sometimes play for small amounts of money, nothing major. Just a private gathering at my place. Completely legal.”
Norman shot him a cautious glance. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
“Norman is your real name?” George winked.
The man named Norman shrugged. “It was my gambling name.”
“Ah, no problem. As long as the money you play with is real.” George chuckled.
“What makes you so sure you’ll get any money from me?” Norman raised an eyebrow, then cracked a quick smile. “Don’t worry. The money is real.”
“Where have you gambled?” George asked.
Norman shrugged. “Different places, here and abroad.”
George was intrigued by this newcomer. He tried to draw him out, find out more about his personal life. Norman was quiet, polite, and mysterious and didn’t give anything away.
George called the waiter and ordered another round. He hoped to make some money, which he sorely needed after spending time in prison. He couldn’t find a regular job, but he had begun what looked like a profitable venture in the wine business together with a few friends. For this, however, he needed extra cash. He had gambled in the past, just for a little money, and had often won. Somehow, he felt this new guy could help him win more. It was worth a try.
Chapter 1
“Dad, where are you going?” Matthew Segantino said as he stepped into his father’s office and spotted the suitcase next to the desk. Then he remembered. “Oh, yes, Spain.” He tried to suppress his irritation. There he goes again.
Robert Segantino, owner of the famed Segantino Winery in Paso Robles, California, was off to another blind wine-tasting event, this time in Madrid. California wines had won several gold and silver medals a few years before, and Robert decided to submit his Syrah at this year’s contest. He also planned to visit some of his most important clients in Europe.
“Dad, I really need to talk to you about the plans for the cellar. I need—”
“Not now, Matt. Just go on with the planning. We’ll talk when I’m back.” Robert got up and raked his fingers through his short curly hair. His dark, almost black eyes expressed impatience. He was of medium height, somewhat stocky
without being fat, dressed in black jeans and a button-down shirt.
Matthew sighed. “I’ve planned it all, but I can’t really complete anything without your consent.”
Robert grabbed his suitcase. “Do whatever you can, and we’ll discuss it later. You can organize a lot without me being involved.”
“Not really,” Matthew said. “I can’t hire musicians for instance without offering them a fee, and that I can’t do without you.”
“Then wait with this and do the other stuff.”
“Such as?” Matthew felt a spike of anger and clenched his jaw. He’d had these kinds of arguments with his father a lot lately.
“Such as?” His father’s voice rose. “Jesus, Matt, show some initiative.”
Matthew’s face grew hot. He felt like blowing up but checked himself and exhaled deeply. He knew it was useless. His dad was on the point of leaving and wasn’t interested in any complaints from his son. “Okay. Whatever. Do you need a ride to the airport?”
“No. Mom is doing that.” Robert walked outside.
Matthew followed him. “I thought she was going with you?”
“She backed out. She said she was getting tired of these wine tasting events.”
“Don’t blame her,” Matthew muttered under his breath. He, too, was tired of his father traveling all over the globe. He wished he’d stay put once in a while, so they could have a meaningful working relationship. Matthew had a lot of ideas but couldn’t put them into practice because his father still had complete authority over the running of the winery and the estate. He didn’t object to Matthew’s ideas, but he had to give his signature for any financial transaction or organizational changes.
Matthew’s mother waved at him as she drove up in their Jeep, then got out of the car and greeted him with a kiss while his father put his suitcase on the back seat.
“Not going to Spain?” Matthew asked.
Janice, a middle-aged, slender, attractive woman with short wavy blond hair and green-blue eyes, raised an eyebrow and gave a quick smile. “No, I decided to visit a friend nearby instead. I’m getting fed up with these long-distance plane trips.” She got back into the car and waved once more.
Matthew watched his parents drive away, then turned around and let his eyes wander over their vast estate. Huge fields of symmetrically planted vines covered the rolling hills and the valleys. He heard the sputtering sound of a farm vehicle nearby. Behind him, overlooking their property from a hill, was his parents’ home, a large house in the Tuscan style with yellow-beige walls and green wooden trim. It was a beautiful home. Matthew lived in a guesthouse in the same style next to it. He was able to live there rent-free and only had to pay for the utilities and upkeep. This was a big help, since he was paying off his substantial student loan from his studies in viticulture and enology at the University of California, Davis.
It was a crisp, cool day in May. Matthew inhaled the light scent of sagebrush mixed with the sweet smell of lilacs in his parents’ garden. It had rained a little in February and March, so the hills and valleys were still green. Unfortunately, the rain wasn’t enough to make a dent in the many years of drought in California.
Matthew walked the short distance to his grandparents’ part of the property. Years ago, his father and grandfather had split their estate. His grandfather had kept the smaller part, three of his favorite varietals, the Italian Sangiovese, Nebbiolo, and Aglianico grapes. Now, they belonged to his brother Nicholas Segantino and his wife Sofia. Matthew stopped next to a field of Sangiovese grapes and walked along one of the rows of vines. The fruit was abundant and looked healthy. He squinted in the bright midday sun and scanned the four grape fields that belonged to his brother.
Sometimes, he envied Nicholas who, because of the smaller size of his property and the help of his wife Sofia and Grandfather Martin, was able to do a lot of the hands-on work himself, such as planting and caring for the vines and harvesting the grapes. Robert’s estate, which Matthew and Nadia, his sister, who was still studying at UC Davis, would inherit one day, was so large that it required quite a few employees. There wasn’t much time for Matthew to work in the vineyards and the cellar, something he had always enjoyed. Now, the actual manual work was done by the staff, and he was mainly responsible for the organizational part. He didn’t mind, he liked to organize things, but he sometimes missed the “getting-your-hands-dirty” kind of work, as his grandfather called it.
Matthew arrived at his grandparents’ home, a medium-size wooden cottage, much smaller than his parents’ house, but Matthew loved its rustic and homey style. Just when he was about to use the brass grapevine knocker, the door opened. His grandfather, Martin Segantino, a tall, skinny man with short white hair and brown eyes, smiled at him.
“Hey there, Matt. Come on in. Nice to see you. You guys must be busy.” He stepped outside and checked the mailbox.
As Matthew joined his grandparents and his brother and sister-in-law in the living room, he inhaled the faint smell of tomato sauce that wafted from the kitchen.
“Yeah, all kinds of stuff is going on.” Matthew plopped himself on the sofa next to Sofia and Nicholas. He pointed to Sofia’s belly. “How’s my favorite nephew doing in there?”
Sofia grinned. “Getting heavy. Definitely a boy.” She patted the bulge. “We’re at eight months now.”
“Well, Matt, you missed lunch, but you came in time for dessert.” Grandma Maria, a short woman, a little on the plump side, with salt-and-pepper hair and kind blue eyes, welcomed him while she carried a pie plate to the table.
Matthew got up and took a peek. “Mmm. Apple pie with custard. My favorite.” His heart warmed whenever he was around his grandparents, a welcome feeling after the turbulence with his father.
They sat down at the table while Maria cut slices of pie, topped them with warm vanilla sauce, and handed the plates around. An alluring scent of vanilla tickled Matthew’s nose. He took a bite and chewed slowly. He was still thinking about his father and the disagreements they’d had lately.
“You seem to be upset about something.” His grandfather, who sat across from him, looked at him with quizzical but warm eyes. “What’s bugging you?”
As usual, his grandfather was very perceptive. Matthew put his spoon down and pushed the plate away. “Sometimes I wish I could have a small estate like yours,” he said to Sofia and Nicholas. “You did the right thing, Grandpa, when you split the property.”
“Yes, I know,” Martin said. “I really had no choice. Robert and I had increasingly different ideas about where we wanted to go with the business. Robert was, and still is, ambitious and wanted to expand while I preferred to keep things small and simple. I didn’t want to hold him back. So I handed most of the estate over to him and kept my few favorite varietals. It worked out really well.” He paused. “Too much for you, the whole thing? Would you prefer a smaller outfit?”
“It’s a difficult situation. Don’t get me wrong. I love the winery, the estate. Dad did a great job, building an empire. To be honest, I could’ve done with just a small village, if you know what I mean. But that’s not the real problem. I don’t really know where I’m going. I mean I’m not even sure of my position. Romero is the manager, and that’s cool. He’s been a longtime loyal and great employee. Dad loves him. But as far as my place in the business is concerned, I’m more or less just the son of the owner. Dad gives me tons of responsibility but not enough control to actually follow through.”
“But you will be the owner one day, you and Nadia,” Maria remarked.
“Yes, but you don’t think Dad’s going to retire any time soon, do you?” Matthew chuckled. “And I don’t want him to. I want him to work as long as he can and as long as he wants to. I still have tons to learn. But I have a few ideas for changes, and I don’t know how to go about implementing them.”
“You mentioned something about the cellar,” Nicholas said.
“Yes, as you know we have this grand underground cellar. It was meant to be a plac
e for storing the wine barrels, of course, but initially we thought we would turn part of it into an entertainment venue. That was the original idea, but with Dad gone so much and I not having any real authority, nothing has happened with it.”
“You have anything concrete in mind?” his grandfather asked.
“Well, yes, for instance we could set aside an area where people could drink wine, enjoy some food, which we could provide or cater. We could even add live music. I wouldn’t want it to be one of those exclusive, snooty outfits that nobody but the rich can afford. It would have to be something for the everyday person. And we could even rent it out for parties. Know what I mean?” Matthew looked at Nicholas.
“That sounds like a great idea. Have you told Dad about it?” his brother asked.
“Many times.”
“What did he say?” Sofia asked.
“He says it’s great. Go ahead and do it.” Matthew rolled his eyes. “That’s easily said, but I need a little help. I have no access to the estate money. I couldn’t do any renovations and order supplies or hire people without some cash.” Matthew winced embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to whine.”
Martin nodded. “Okay, I can see your problem. May I make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“Sit down and draw up a plan of the cellar. Try to be as specific as possible. How big do you want the entertainment area to be? Make a diagram. Draw a picture. And then ask around, try to figure out how much it would cost. You want to hire musicians? There are some great local ones. Call them and ask them how much they would charge. Put everything on paper. Make a spreadsheet on the computer. You need to show your father that you are in fact independent, that you not only have ideas, but have a way of making them into reality. I bet you’ll get his attention that way.”
“You’re right. Why didn’t I think of that before?”
“Because you’re frustrated with your father,” Martin said. “I can understand why. He’s not an easy man to deal with sometimes. He wants control. So, now, you must take control. I bet, once Robert realizes you’re not just a dreamer but a doer, he’ll begin to listen.”
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