A Food and Wine Club Mystery Boxset Books 1 through 5

by Cat Chandler

  Nicki tuned out the familiar excuses and put her hand over the bottom half of her cell phone. “What?” she asked in a loud stage whisper as an oblivious Rob kept talking into her ear.

  “Maxie wants to know when she should pick up the lemon cake tomorrow?” Alex whispered back.

  Nicki had completely forgotten about her promise to supply her landlady, and president of the Ladies in Writing Society, with dessert for her next meeting. Nicki did a quick calculation in her head. “Late afternoon. Sometime after four.”

  “Okay,” Alex said. “And you might be interested to know that Jenna is making dinner.”

  As Alex disappeared back down the hallway, Nicki’s eyes widened at the thought of Jenna Lindstrom cooking any food in her shiny new kitchen. With visions of gigantic hamburgers sizzling in a pan and throwing out waves of grease to coat her walls, she quickly removed her hand from covering the receiver. “I understand, Rob. No problem. I’m very busy, too. I have to go now, but I’ll call later and you can fill me in on the details of this company dinner.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Nicki tapped the hang-up button and took off for the kitchen.

  Chapter Eleven

  For the third time in less than a week, Nicki pulled into the parking lot of Holland Winery. After the usual wrestling match with her car door, she stepped out and looked around, half expecting to see Geri plodding up the ramp from the production building. But aside from a scattering of cars, the lot was empty.

  Nicki made her way toward a low structure behind the public tasting room, bypassing the visiting areas in favor of going directly to Jim Holland’s office. Since she’d called earlier and made an appointment, she didn’t feel it necessary to make a stop in the area built for all the tourists. And thanks to her complete fiasco of a visit to preserve a crime scene Chief Turnlow had already taken care of, she knew right where the winery owner’s office was located. It was only a few minutes before she was peeking in through the open doorway where Jim Holland was sitting at his desk, intently studying his computer screen.

  She politely knocked against the doorframe to announce her presence, smiling and waiting to be invited in when the winery owner looked up from his work.

  “Nicki, don’t stand on ceremony. Come in and have a seat.” Jim stood and gestured to the group of rickety-looking chairs facing his desk.

  She picked the one appearing to have the least number of splinters and sat down.

  “Thank you for seeing me this morning. I’m sorry it’s such short notice.”

  The big man smiled and leaned back in his creaky, leather chair. “I’m happy to help in any way I can. You said you needed background information for the article you’re writing for Matt Dillon’s magazine?”

  Nodding, Nicki dutifully reached into her bag and pulled out a small notebook and pen. “With all the confusion, I didn’t get a lot for the article. And since the tasting never happened, he’s looking for a different slant.”

  “Understandable,” Jim said. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Oh, maybe a piece on George Lanciere’s career, his daily life, that kind of thing.” Nicki casually waved her pen in the air. “With background information on the winery, of course, to keep it interesting.”

  Jim frowned. “Except for his work here, I don’t know much about George’s career. Geri worked more closely with him on a day-to-day basis. You should talk with her.”

  Nicki jotted down a few words in her notebook. “That’s an excellent idea. I’ll be sure to get in contact with her and arrange to meet.”

  “She’s been out ever since she found George’s body. I guess the shock was too much. She needed time to recover.”

  “Yes, it was terrible for her,” Nicki said with a mental roll of her eyes. Geri had never come within ten feet of George. She’d left most of the burden of dealing with the first responders and police to Nicki. As far as she could remember, the assistant winemaker spent the bulk of their time in George’s aging room crying on Jim’s shoulder.

  “She’s arranging for a memorial get-together at his house tomorrow afternoon. If you’re planning on attending, you might catch her there,” Jim said.

  “Of course I’ll be going,” Nicki said, even though it was the first she’d heard about it. “But I haven’t had a chance to call her and ask about the time.”

  “Four o’clock or so, and only for a couple of hours. He rents one of my houses on the winery property and we can’t have a lot of cars going up and down our private roads. They need to be clear to move equipment around,” Jim stated, surprising Nicki with his flat, matter-of-fact tone.

  Not much sympathy going on there. But still, Jim Holland had to have at least a smidgeon of remorse over his head winemaker’s death. After all, he was putting on a memorial service.

  “Well, it’s nice of you to host a memorial,” Nicki said.

  Jim shrugged. “I’m not. It was Geri’s idea and she’s doing all the arranging.”

  “Oh.” Somehow Nicki wasn’t surprised. “Well, I’m sure Mr. Lanciere would appreciate it.”

  “Lancer,” Jim snorted. “The man’s dead so there’s no reason to keep up the pretense he was French. And I doubt if he appreciated anything in his entire life.”

  Nicki tapped the end of her pen on the top of her notebook. This was interesting. Jim Holland’s real feelings about his winemaker were certainly coming out in full force.

  “It’s very kind of you to pay for the service, whether Mr. Lancer would have appreciated it or not,” she said, wondering if she was going to get another snarky response. She didn’t have long to wait.

  “I’m not doing that either. Geri is footing the bill. I understand she’s asking the rest of the staff to bring a dish of food to help out, but she isn’t getting many takers. I paid for the tasting of his private blend, not to mention his salary for all the time he was here but didn’t work on Holland business. That’s enough as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Oh? Why do you say he wasn’t working on your winery business when he was here?” Nicki asked.

  “I figure he spent at least a quarter of his time out on the loading dock, smoking a cigarette, not to mention the hours he spent on his personal phone, and I doubt if it was on winery business. At least not my winery.”

  Now that she had a crystal-clear picture of Jim Holland’s opinion of the murdered man, Nicki switched topics.

  “How long did George work for you?”

  He wrinkled his forehead. “A dozen years. He started as an assistant, then came up with a personal blend that was a truly outstanding chardonnay. I not only paid for the launch, but sponsored it too.”

  “I understand Holland did very well sponsoring that blend,” Nicki remarked, making a show of scribbling in her notebook.

  “We were already building a good reputation,” Jim shot back.

  When Nicki tilted her head to one side and simply looked at him, he shifted in his chair before letting out a loud sigh.

  “Having that blend to sell alongside our own didn’t hurt us any. There wasn’t a lot of it, but enough to stir a good amount of interest in our other production wines,” he conceded.

  Nicki mentally arranged events in her mind. “Is that when Mr. Lancer became your head winemaker?”

  Jim nodded. “When that announcement went out, interest picked up even more. Bill approached Lancer about then and took him on as head winemaker as well.”

  “So Mr. Lancer took over at both wineries? What happened to the head winemakers you already had?” Nicki asked, not only out of natural curiosity, but also in case she had to add more suspects to their murder board.

  “The one over at The White Crown, which was Bill’s old winery before he started Todos, was going to retire the following year anyway, so he only moved the date up,” Jim replied.

  After waiting a full ten seconds Nicki leaned forward, her pen now tapping against her lower lip. “And how about your head winemaker at the time, Jim? Did he retire as well?”

&nb
sp; Shaking his head, Jim plucked a piece of candy out of a bowl near his computer. “Tandry didn’t like all the attention going to one of his assistants. When George took the head winemaker’s job at The White Crown, Tandry wanted to fire him from my winery. But I wouldn’t do it, and Tandry moved on.”

  Nicki gave a sympathetic nod. “That must have been upsetting for you.”

  “It’s part of the business.” Jim shrugged again. “Besides, Tandry had run out his career. I would have looked for a replacement for him at the end of that year’s crush anyway. It just so happens that Lancer saved me the trouble.”

  After writing down Tandry’s name on her list, Nicki scanned the scribbled notes she’d made while Jim was talking. “You said Mr. Lancer started out as one of the assistants. Was Geri the other one?”

  “No. She was only an intern back then while she was finishing up her education. There was another assistant. Another woman.” Jim Holland looked away.

  Despite all his signals that he wasn’t comfortable with the subject, Nicki persisted.

  “Someone else? What was her name? Does she still work here?”

  “What does this have to do with your story about the winery and the special blend?” Jim’s voice held a definite snap, but he still didn’t make eye contact with Nicki.

  “Oh, nothing,” Nicki said. “I was just curious. Did Mr. Lancer have any family around? Parent or siblings? Maybe a girlfriend or significant other?”

  “I don’t get involved in my employee’s lives.” Jim gave his watch a pointed glance.

  “Understandable. That can be messy,” Nicki quickly agreed with a smile. She’d have to find another way to track down information about this Stella person. She didn’t want to alienate a potential suspect— especially on her first interview. While she was flipping through her notes, she suddenly remembered what Rob had said.

  “Who gets the wine now?” she blurted out.

  The winery owner frowned. “What wine?”

  “George Lancer’s special blend. Does he have any family?”

  Jim shook his head. “No. At least he always said he didn’t.”

  “Then who gets the wine?” Nicki asked. “Will it go to the government as part of an unclaimed estate?”

  “Not according to my attorney,” Jim said. “It was developed on my property, most likely during the hours I was paying Lancer, so I should have first claim on it.”

  “But Mr. Lancer bought the grapes to develop the wine, didn’t he? Isn’t that how it usually works?” Nicki asked.

  “Not necessarily. He could have used Holland grapes easily enough. But if the government wants me to reimburse the estate for the cost of the grapes so I can keep the wine, then I’ll do that. And I supplied the barrels, even if it was part of his employment contract, and paid for the party to host his tasting, whether or not the wine was unveiled.” Jim stood up, signaling the interview was over.

  Nicki had no choice but to get to her feet and gather up her purse and notebook.

  “Thank you, Jim. I appreciate your time.”

  He gave her a short nod and remained standing as Nicki made her way across the room. At the doorway, she paused and turned to face him. “Did you taste it?”

  “No,” Jim said, not even pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about.

  Puzzled, Nicki frowned. “Why not?”

  “On the advice of my attorney. He said I should keep the room locked in accordance with the police instructions, and no one was to touch or taste the wine so I wouldn’t have an unfair advantage over any other claims on it,” Jim said.

  “Who else would have a claim on it?” Nicki’s brow furrowed in thought. Since the wine was on his property, she’d think the old rule about possession being nine-tenths of the law would apply.

  Jim only shrugged. “It was nice talking with you, Nicki. Let me know when that article comes out.”

  Nicki politely smiled and left the office, turning down the hallway leading to the exit door. Once outside she glanced to her left toward the parking lot, then turned right and took the short walk to the main building. She was almost to the backdoor when a man appeared on the loading dock.

  From where she stood she had a clear view of him, and since he was looking her way she assumed he also had a clear view of her. Digging into her purse for her cell phone, she took it out and dialed several random numbers, careful to keep it a couple of digits short of an actual call, and held the phone to her ear. She proceeded to engage in a purely fictitious, one-sided conversation until the man on the loading dock disappeared back inside the production building.

  With no one else in sight, Nicki slipped through the backdoor and into a dimly lit hallway. She tiptoed as quietly as she could until she came to a junction. If she continued to go straight, she’d end up at the door behind the bar that led into the tasting room. Instead she turned left into the wide hallway where George Lancer had his private aging room.

  The police tape still crisscrossed the closed door. Nicki carefully tried the handle, but this time it was locked solid. She rattled the doorknob twice out of pure frustration before abandoning it and continuing down the hallway toward a wide, open archway. Curiosity had her peeking into the room that sported the same, thick stone walls as the room housing George’s personal blend. She felt along the surface closest to the archway until her hand found a light switch. Flipping it on, a single dim light bulb hanging on a cord dangling from the ceiling, sort of lit up. It barely had enough wattage to show the various barrels all along the walls, lined-up in small and large groups.

  “Must be the private blends for the rest of the staff members,” Nicki mused out loud. “Wonder who they belong to?”

  Most of the barrels were in small groups of two or three, but there were two sections, on opposite walls, that had closer to ten. Nicki did a quick count and nodded. Ten in one group and twelve in another.

  She stepped closer to the ten-barrel group and inspected them. There was nothing to identify who the blend belonged to, except for a small, almost unnoticeable “XXX” stamped on one end followed by three large dots. Another of the smaller groups had a “13”, and the twelve- barrel group had one six stacked on top of another six, all very small and in places she had to get nose-to-wood to see it. She only found one, ten-barrel group that had no marking at all.

  Nicki assumed it was a kind of secret identification for the owner of those barrels. She was still on her hands and knees, looking for the elusive barrel markings on a fourth group when her cell phone went off. In the echoey chamber, it gave her quite a start. As her phone continued to blare, with the noise bouncing off the cold, stone walls, Nicki couldn’t get her hands on it. She frantically rummaged around the bottom of her large bag where she’d tossed the phone after she was through with her fictitious call.

  Finally out of frustration, she turned her purse over and dumped everything out onto the stone floor, grabbing the cell as it slid by her. Seeing Jenna’s caller ID, Nicki quickly pushed the answer button to stop the strident ring tone.

  “What?” she whispered into the speaker end.

  “Why are you whispering?” Jenna demanded. “Are you hiding from someone?”

  “No. I’m in a room that echoes, that’s all. And I’m not hiding. I just don’t want to announce I’m here. I’m amazed there’s cell service at all in this room,” Nicki said looking around.

  “Yes, it really is a wonder how strong the signals are from the cell towers anymore,” Jenna snorted. “Where are you? Just in case we have to send out searchers to look for your body.”

  Nicki glanced across the dimly lit room with shadows of the wine barrels creeping over the walls and wished Jenna hadn’t mentioned dead bodies. “I’m at Holland Winery. In the big room next to the one George used to age his own wine. From all the wine barrels in here, it looks like other employees also make their own wine, or it could be an overflow storage for the winery.”

  “You can’t get locked in there, can you?” Jenna asked.


  “No. This room doesn’t have a door. It’s open to the hall through an archway.”

  “Okay. Did you find out anything new from Jim Holland that I should add to our murder board?” Jenna asked.

  “A couple of interesting things,” Nicki said. “For one, he has a lawyer to help him get legal ownership of George’s wine.”

  “He already has the wine, why would he need a lawyer?”

  “I don’t know. Unless someone else has a lawyer, too,” Nicki whispered. “He also made it clear he didn’t like his head winemaker at all.”

  “Well from what you said, he’ll have to stand in line. No one liked George.”

  Nicki could almost hear the shrug in Jenna’s voice.

  “He refused to talk about this Stella who Maxie mentioned, and he was already planning on replacing George by the end of the year. He claimed his head winemaker had run the course of his career, just like the guy before him,” Nicki said.

  “The same is going to be said for me if I don’t get back to work,” Jenna replied.

  “Where are you?” Nicki hoped her friend hadn’t called her from the parking lot or even the tasting room, with every intention of storming the winery to rescue her blogging-friend-turned-detective. Nicki wouldn’t put it past Jenna to do something like that.

  “I’m at your place. Which is why I called you,” Jenna said.

  “My place?” Nicki held her wrist up close to her face so she could read the time on her watch. “Is Alex still there? I thought she’d be headed home by now.”

  “She did go back to Santa Rosa, and she left you a note saying she was going to arrange for a few extra days off so she could come back and help keep you out of trouble. And no, I didn’t read your personal stuff. We were both sitting at the kitchen counter when she wrote it. She also left you a map of a new route for you to try on your morning run, which she noticed you didn’t take this morning, and some kind of flavored rice cakes she’s gone bonkers over. Of course I’ll be glad to toss those in the trash for you, being the good friend that I am.”