A Riesling to Die

by J. C. Eaton

  I put the iced tea in the fridge and nodded. “Good to know.”

  “He’s single, too. Not bad looking.”

  “Not interested. Don’t even think it. I’m here for one year and back to Manhattan. I have no intention of spending my life tucked away in Norman Rockwell land. No offense.”

  “Okay, okay. I won’t pester you. You’ll have enough on your plate.”

  “What I want on my plate is lots of time to work on my next screenplay. I’ve got a contract with Paramour Productions in Toronto, and I don’t plan on blowing it.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and caught my reflection in the window glass. I wasn’t bad looking either. Shoulder-length auburn hair, light freckles, one dimple (I definitely got gypped) and a decent figure as a result of my exercise program—walking instead of hailing a cab.

  Francine rinsed the plates and sat down, motioning for me to do the same. “How did you get on with Cammy?”

  “Really liked her. And Glenda, too.”

  “Wait ’till you meet Lizzie and the rest of the crew. Feel free to pop in and out of the tasting room. Tomorrow I’m having you spend the day with Franz Johannas and his assistants. He’ll introduce you. He’s the winemaker we hired four years ago when Rhinehart opened his own winery in Ithaca. He still consults with us when we need him. He’s married and has two children now. Can you believe it?”

  I shuddered. “He was a kid when Mom and Dad hired him. Geez. I feel like I’m the only one who hasn’t aged.”

  “Your braces are gone and you’ve gotten taller. You’ve aged.”

  “Thanks a heap. If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a stroll around the place. Yesterday was a blur. I’ll be back before John gets here.”

  “Have fun!”

  I slipped out of the kitchen and walked past the tasting room building, pausing to watch a little girl in a pink and white smock pet Alvin. The gravel parking lot had a dozen or so cars in it with more New Jersey and Pennsylvania license plates than New York. A few yards to my left stood the winery building. A black Mercedes coupe and a red Chevy Silverado were parked in the small dirt lot next to the side door. Closer to the entrance was a bright silver Volvo sedan and a few feet from that, an older Volkswagen Golf.

  “Like hell you will,” someone shouted as two men argued by the door. Too bad I couldn’t get a close enough look. I turned the other way, pretending to take an interest in the Riesling grapes that were in the adjacent vineyard.

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll do it.”

  Next thing I knew, the owner of the Mercedes got into his car and took off, spewing enough dust to rival a small dirt devil. I couldn’t read the license plate, but its distinct orange and black colors left no doubt it was New York. Another interference from that mega company or something else? Maybe John knew and would mention it to Francine when we all convened later. I kept walking.

  I was no expert, but our vineyards looked darn good to me. Verdant green and healthy. Not too bushy. Of course, it was only June and a lot could happen weather-wise that would turn a thriving vineyard into a veritable wasteland. Not on my watch, please.

  I stood in the middle of the road and admired the rows of Gewürztraminer. A sharp honk and I jumped. It was a small white Toyota pickup and the guy was in a hurry. I moved to the left and nearly lost my balance on the rutted vineyard pathway.

  “You okay?” the driver asked. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  In the background, it sounded like one of those “learn a language” tapes. Spanish, maybe? He clicked it off.

  “Then you shouldn’t’ve honked.”

  The guy looked annoyed. “I couldn’t very well sit in the driveway and wait while you took a selfie or whatever it was you were doing.”

  “For your information, I was studying the vineyards.”

  “Studying?”

  “Okay. Looking at them. Never mind. Enjoy your visit.” That was the moment I got a really good look at the driver. Cowboy cute was the first thought that came to mind and I made a mental note to remember what he looked like so I could use him in one of my screenplays, even if he was a jerk. Average height, from what I could tell with him behind the wheel, and the biggest brown eyes that matched his wavy dark hair. Great screenplay material. I waved him on and continued down the driveway.

  The Grey Egret Winery was off to my right and their parking lot also had about a dozen cars. Probably the ones that left our tasting room earlier or cars that hopefully would continue up the hill. I took out my iPhone and looked at the screen. Plenty of time to pay the Grey Egret a visit.

  Their building was similar to ours, with that woodsy lodge thing going for it, but instead of tan and brown wood stain, they’d opted for teal and gray. It worked. The place reminded me of a nature museum, and I pictured all sorts of stuffed water fowl on the walls. I wasn’t too far off.

  Like our winery, their production area was housed in another building behind the tasting room. Their operation was much smaller than ours, according to Francine, but they were growing. Small pine trees framed the entrance and the subtle scent of pine wafted in the air. I opened the door and stepped inside.

  “Hi! Welcome to the Grey Egret Winery!” came a man’s voice from behind the counter. “Come join us for a tasting.”

  The counter spanned the entire length of the building, with twenty or so bistro chairs for customers. In the middle of the floor were bins with wines for purchase and T-shirts. No bistro café but a small vending machine with snacks.

  “I’m not really here to taste wines,” I said. “I stopped by to say hello. I’m Norrie Ellington, Francine Keane’s sister. Or, if you’d prefer, witch number two.”

  The man excused himself from the customers he was serving and walked around the counter. He extended his hand and gave me a big smile. “Theo Buchman. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Don, my partner, just got off the phone with your sister. We invited all of you to have dinner with us tomorrow night. Nothing special. Don will probably whip up a lasagna or some sort of Italian meal I can’t pronounce. He’s the chef around here. But I have all the carryout places on speed dial.”

  I could see why Francine liked these guys. Well, at least judging from my first impression of Theo. “That’s great. And by the way, I can’t cook either. I’ll be buying Wegmans’s takeout if I plan to survive.”

  Wegmans was the giant food chain in upstate New York and the one place I really did miss in spite of having lots of culinary choices in the city.

  Theo laughed and walked back behind the counter. “Feel free to look around. Sure you don’t want to try any of our wines?”

  “Oh, I do. I really do, but another day. I spent the morning getting acquainted with our own wines. It’s been a while.”

  Just then, a balding portly guy who appeared to be in his thirties came in from another room.

  “Don,” Theo said, “meet Norrie, Francine’s sister.”

  Don immediately rushed over to me and Theo returned to his customers.

  “I can only stay for a few minutes,” I said. “Francine’s having me meet with our vineyard manager. This morning it was the tasting room manager and tomorrow the winemaker. Sort of a cross between speed dating and a crash course in Winery One-Oh-One.”

  “Yeah, we know. Francine and Jason told us. Listen, Theo and I are always here if you need anything. I mean that. We’ve bailed each other out on numerous occasions. That’s what it’s all about if we want our wineries to thrive.”

  “Thanks. To be honest, I really don’t know what to expect. I figured the staff was going to coast along on its own, but now I’m not too sure. I met a horrid woman this morning who complained about the vineyard cannons and I found out some mega company wants to buy all of us out.” I neglected to mention the bizarre encounter I witnessed in front of our winery door. “I just hope I’ll be able to meet my screenwriting deadlines.
”

  “You’re a screenwriter? Francine didn’t say that. Any movies I might’ve seen?”

  “That depends if you like the Hallmark channel. I write for Canadian companies that produce romances. Maybe you’ve heard of some of them… Kisses in the Snow, A Hug from the—”

  “Oh my gosh! You wrote Kisses in the Snow? I loved that movie. ‘Hold out your hand and let the snowflakes melt into your heart. No summer’s heat or winter’s wind will ever take that away from us.’”

  “You remembered those words? I don’t even remember those words and I wrote it.”

  Don began to blush and he looked at Theo. “The movie was on TV the night we decided to tie the knot.”

  “Wow. I don’t know what to say. I feel honored. Probably the next words you’ll hear from me are ‘Help! Something awful’s happened at the winery.’”

  “Eek. Let’s hope not.”

  “Guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night. That’s really nice of you to invite us over for dinner.”

  “Tell me that after you’ve tried my cooking.”

  We both laughed. I said good-bye to Theo, who was still waiting on customers, and headed back up the hill. This time with company. Charlie appeared out of nowhere and followed me. When I got to the house, he bumped me and I immediately petted him. “So you’re the smelly hound dog my sister took in.” He bumped again. “We used to have a collie when I was a kid, but she was always brushed and seemed to stay clean.”

  The dog looked at me as if to say, “Good for her,” and scratched at the kitchen door. Francine shuffled a pile of papers in the middle of the table and groaned. “Honestly, I’m trying to tie up all these odds and ends and hope I can make it by the end of the week. Did Jason get to talk to you about the banking?”

  The banking. Two words that made my stomach twist.

  “No. Not yet.”

  “The good news is, we don’t have to go to the bank to add your name to all of the business accounts because it’s already there. He’ll need to go over everything with you, but don’t worry, Lizzie handles the accounting and the billing. All you have to do is pay the monthly house bills for heating, electricity, that sort of stuff. I’ve got it all arranged. I’ll give you my password into the online checking and you’ll be all set. I’ve also pre-signed some checks in case of an emergency. I’ve got them locked in a file cabinet for you.”

  The more she talked, the more I saw my writing time fizzle. Then again, how difficult could it be to pay bills? I managed my own stuff. At least I didn’t have to tackle the business. Apparently Lizzie did.

  “The cash register lady handles the billing?”

  “Lizzie is a retired CPA. She’s widowed and her only daughter lives in California. Working in the winery gives her something to do. And that includes our taxes. Like I said, you don’t have to worry.”

  I don’t have to, but I probably will.

  Just then there was a knock on the door and I heard a voice I recognized, even though it had been years.

  “Come on in, John,” Francine called out. “We’re in the kitchen.”

  Charlie, who had just settled into a dog bed I hadn’t noticed before, picked up his head and so did I. John Grishner looked the same as he did ten years ago, only his mustache was now completely gray and his hairline had receded a bit. He was just as sturdy and muscular as I remembered.

  “Hey, Norrie, it’s been a long time. Great to have you back.”

  I walked over and gave him a hug. “It’s temporary, but yeah, I’m glad to be here.”

  “Can I fix you anything, John?” Francine asked. “We’ve got turkey and ham.”

  “I’m fine. I already had lunch, but thanks anyway. So, tell me,” he said looking directly at me, “do you want the grand tour or the abbreviated version?”

  “I want the CliffsNotes.”

  All of a sudden there was another knock on the door and Charlie lifted his head a second time.

  “It’s me, Peter.”

  “Come on in,” Francine shouted. Then she turned to me. “Peter’s the assistant vineyard manager. The one I told you about.”

  I opened my mouth to say something when the guy stepped into the kitchen. Oh no. The gorgeous jerk from the truck. My cheeks began to feel warm and I stood there wordless.

  “Peter, meet Norrie, my sister,” Francine said.

  He held out his hand and gave me a wink. “Nice to see you again.”

  Chapter 4

  “You two know each other?” my sister asked.

  I cringed. “Uh, we sort of met earlier today. In the driveway.”

  “That’s great,” John added. “Hope you don’t mind but I asked Peter to stop by and join us for the grand tour. He’ll be taking over as manager once I retire, so it’s important you get to know him.”

  I forced a smile and then bit the inside of my lip. We’ll see how this goes.

  John, Peter and I left the house and walked outside. It was a perfect early summer afternoon with a warm breeze and few clouds in the sky.

  “If the rains can hold off,” John said, “we may have our best grapes yet.”

  For the next hour, I followed them around the vineyards for a refresher course on growing grapes. John pointed out the weather-resistant vines, like Chardonnay and Cayuga, at the top of the ridge and the more sensitive ones on the bottom, where it’s warmer due to the proximity of the lake.

  My mind was on overdrive. Disease-resistant rootstock. Irrigation. Pruning. Fertilizing. Canopy management. Pest control. The process was never-ending. Each season meant work. And then there was the machinery. Machinery I never intended to go near.

  John asked if I would mind having Peter continue the tour because there was some paperwork that required John’s attention before he called it quits for the day.

  “Uh, that’s fine with me if Peter doesn’t mind.”

  “Nothing I’d like to do more than explain how we plant and harvest with modern technology.”

  Bite me, I thought, but I didn’t say a word.

  “I don’t want to bore you to death,” he said, “so stop me if you already know this stuff.”

  He explained how a mechanical vine harvester was used for some of the grapes and why vineyard workers handpicked others. The real joy came when we went into the barn adjacent to the winery so he could point out the harvester.

  I looked at the lumbering piece of metal and winced. “That must’ve cost a fortune.”

  “Farm equipment does. Most farms and wineries have more equipment loans than mortgages.”

  For an instant, I began to wonder about Francine and Jason’s finances again.

  Next, he pointed out machinery that looked as if George Lucas had designed it for the next Star Wars movie. Grape hoes. Leaf cutter rotary knives. Plows. Mowers. Sprayers. Mulchers. No wonder the guy had a degree in agriculture. It was the only way to understand this stuff.

  “I think I’m good,” I said. “The only piece of equipment I’ll be using is an automobile.”

  “It’s important to know all the aspects of running an operation like this so if you have any questions, ask.”

  I swiveled my head around and gave the harvester another look. “What happens if this stuff breaks down?” Because I doubt Francine’s checks will cover it.

  “Most of us know how to make repairs and get parts. In emergencies, other wineries help us out.”

  “Uh, one more thing.” I don’t know why it even popped into my head, but it did and I blurted it out. “What about injuries? I mean, how dangerous are these things?”

  Peter stepped back and made some sort of hmm sound. “All farm equipment can cause injury or death. It’s a risk the workers are aware of. We drill safety into all of our workers. And no one operates machinery unless they’re trained.”

  “Okay, fine. I guess that’s about it. I should be
heading back up the hill. Thanks for the tour.”

  “I’m sorry if we got off to a bad start in the driveway. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other this year, and I don’t want things to be uncomfortable. What do you say? Truce?”

  He held out his hand once more and I shook it, but this time he held it longer and I thought I detected a slight squeeze. Then again, I had a tendency to imagine things like that. Especially when it came to reading men. I wasn’t really good at it, even if I did write romance.

  “We’re good.” I walked out of the barn and looked at the winery building. That nightmarish tour was scheduled for tomorrow. My brain was on overload and I couldn’t possibly add one more thing. Then, out of nowhere, one word stuck with me—death. “All farm equipment can cause injury or death.” Wonderful. And people say living in big cities can be hazardous.

  I ambled up the hill and back to the house. While I was learning about leaf cutters and grape hoes, Francine had whipped up a strawberry and walnut chicken salad for dinner.

  “How’d your tour go?” she asked.

  “Fine. As long as I don’t have to dig anything, plant anything or spray anything. By the way, the assistant manager seems a bit…bookish.”

  “Oh? Did he go on the tour, too?”

  “No, John got me through the vineyards and Peter scared the crap out of me with the farm equipment. Hope you’ve got a heavy-duty insurance policy.”

  Francine laughed. “We do. Peter’s a nice guy. He probably seemed bookish because he wanted to make sure he explained everything.”

  “He did. Believe me.”

  “Don’t look so worried. Like I keep telling you, everyone here knows what to do. Hey, you might want to look up some of your old high school friends from Penn Yan.”

  “My three good high school friends are in Oregon, Colorado and California. They all wished me condolences when I told them I was spending a year back here.”

  Francine chuckled and brushed the hair off her brow. “I’ve decided to toss more baby spinach and kale into the salad.”