by J. C. Eaton
“Need help?”
“No.”
“Great because I’ve got some of my own work to do.”
I went upstairs to my room, turned on the laptop and checked my e-mails. God no! There was an urgent message that was sent to me early this morning from the producer of the film company. I opened it immediately and held my breath.
“Norrie,” it read, “We’ve cancelled Conrad Blyth’s Amish love story series, which means the timeline’s been moved up for A Swim Under the Waterfall. See attached deadline list and acknowledge. Call me if you have any problems. Renee.”
A lump formed in my throat and I reread the message. No problems whatsoever. I’ll lock myself in this room and come out on the fourth of July.
Francine and Jason wouldn’t stop talking that night at dinner. He kept going on and on about how exciting it was to learn more about some kind of bug whose name I couldn’t even pronounce. “You know what the odd thing is,” he said, “I’ve been waiting so long for this opportunity to come through and all of a sudden—boom! If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought someone pulled some strings but everything at the Experiment Station goes through a zillion channels. Guess it was just my time.”
I chomped on a piece of date nut bread and nodded.
He looked at me and continued. “Yikes. Before I forget, the shotguns are locked in that old armoire in the den. A twenty-two, a thirty-thirty and a twelve gauge. Ammo and the key are in the desk. Francine said you know how to use them.”
“Uh, sort of. My dad and I used to shoot soda cans by the woods, but that’s the extent of it. And I’ve only used a single shot twenty-two. Why?”
“I’m sure you’ll never have a need for them, but having some protection in the house is pretty standard for vineyard owners and farmers. I’ll ask John or Peter to practice shooting with you sometime.”
Oh joy.
Later that night I asked Francine again if everything was all right and she said yes. “It’s a lot of stuff to absorb all at once so I can understand if you’re a bit nervous. You’ll be fine. Franz is expecting you at eight tomorrow morning. He’ll give you the complete rundown on the winery.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“Wish I could, but I need to do more last-minute shopping. Mainly toiletries and over-the-counter medicines we can’t buy there. And I’m sneaking some toilet paper, too. Um, there’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The West Side Women of the Wineries meets the first and third Thursdays at Billsburrow Hill Winery. Ten in the morning. That’s right up the road, and the meeting usually lasts an hour. It’s more of a social gathering than anything else, but it’s a great way to find out what’s going on behind the scenes.”
“I remember. Mom used to say more mouth flapping went on at those meetings than anyplace else in the Finger Lakes.”
“Some of the loudest mouths have retired, so it’s not that bad. Only an hour.”
I sighed and clasped my hands. “An hour. I’ve got a strict deadline coming up for one of my screenplays, and I can’t miss it.”
“I understand.”
When I hit the pillow that night, I fell fast asleep. Unfortunately, I bolted awake and looked at the clock radio—three. I tried to close my eyes again, but all I could think about were guns, gruesome deaths caused by farm equipment and some miserable meeting I’d have to sit through. Not to mention my meeting with Franz, the winemaker, in five hours and the new deadline for the screenplay.
Since I couldn’t sleep, the least I could do was work. I turned on the laptop and sat down at the sleek modern desk that faced the front window. Outside, nothing but darkness, a few stars and a crescent moon. I went back to where I had left off days ago with some dialogue. I wanted it sharp and snappy, in keeping with my characters’ personalities. At one point I looked up and noticed the unmistakable beam from a flashlight coming from the edge of the woods past the vineyard.
Way too late for anyone to be traipsing around. I noted the time—three fifty-two. Whoever flashed that light quit a few minutes later and it was pitch black again. The next morning I mentioned it to Francine while we were at breakfast. Jason had already left for work and Charlie had taken off at the same time.
“Poachers,” she said. “Damn it. It was probably poachers. We’ve had trouble with them before. I’ll call the Sandersons, who own the woods behind ours, and let them know. They won’t be too thrilled either. Usually it’s much worse during deer season in November. Anyway, I’ll report it to the sheriff’s office, too.”
I didn’t think much of it since Francine didn’t seem to be all that rattled when she left the kitchen, just annoyed. Sipping my coffee, I lingered at the table until it came time for me to go to the winery and meet Franz. I imagined my sister was in her room, presumably packing or maybe looking up antidotes for insect bites. I yelled out to her. “I’m off! See you later!”
“Have fun, Norrie. I may be gone most of the morning. Grab lunch at the bistro if you want. The food’s great.”
With that, I left the house and walked down the hill. Off to my right, a few vineyard workers were putting in a new drip irrigation system for the newest part of the vineyard. I think I remembered Cammy telling me they had planted more Riesling since it was so popular. I could see the black tubes on top of the burrows and hoped it wouldn’t rain any time soon since the area was already muddy.
It was eight on the nose when I knocked on the door to the winery. Expecting to see an older gentleman, I was taken back when a good-looking black man, who appeared to be my age, opened the door.
I held out my hand and acted nonchalant. “Hi! You must be Franz. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
The guy broke out laughing. “Wow. I’ve been mistaken for lots of people but not a short red-haired winemaker with horned-rimmed glasses. I’m Herbert, the intern from Cornell. I’m finishing my degree in viticulture and enology.”
My God! If there isn’t a degree for everything.
“I’m Norrie. Liberal arts major extraordinaire. Also screenwriter and Francine’s sister. Franz is expecting me.”
“A pleasure. Come on in. Franz is running wine samples through the lab and Alan, our technician, is checking analysis reports. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
Herbert’s description of Franz was right-on and, oddly enough, Alan had the same look and coloring, only he was much taller. Both of the men spoke nonstop about winemaking and their process.
I remembered certain areas in the winery were totally off limits to visitors due to the possibility of contamination, but the work lab wasn’t one of them and neither was the steel barrel room. I got the grand tour of each as Franz went on and on about cold soaking and maceration time, hot vs. cool fermentation and something known as pump overs and punchdowns to stir the wine. I began to wish I was back in the barn looking at the vineyard equipment.
Then, out of nowhere, he paused and took a breath. “The risk from low oxygen and high carbon dioxide levels is always a concern. It can lead to death as I’m sure you’re well aware.”
I am now.
“I can’t begin to tell you how many deaths were caused by workers climbing into the tanks and suffocating.”
“I, uh, er…”
“We take the utmost precautions here, but please, under no circumstances, enter the winery without one of our technicians or me.”
“No problem. None whatsoever.”
I couldn’t wait to get out of the winery fast enough. I thanked Franz and bolted up the hill to the tasting room. I couldn’t believe it. In less than twenty-four hours I’d heard the death word twice and one thing became perfectly clear—I really was insane to agree to oversee Two Witches Winery for an entire year.
Chapter 5
Cammy waved me over as soon as I walked into the tasting room. “How’s it going?”
&n
bsp; “How’s it going? How’s it going? You really don’t want to know. It’s a nightmare.”
I looked around and could see an older gentleman serving six women at one of the tasting room tables. It had to be Roger if I’d gotten my schedule right. From there, I glanced across the room to the cash register. An impeccably dressed gray-haired lady with wire-rimmed glasses and a colorful summer scarf scanned a credit card into the machine and handed it back to a middle-aged man along with a bottle of wine.
“Come on,” Cammy said. “I’ll introduce you to Lizzie and Roger. Then you can tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s really very simple. I may be hanging out here more than I originally thought. This is the only place where the word death wasn’t mentioned at least once.”
I went on to tell her about my experience yesterday with Peter and my morning encounter with Franz and his crew. “Honestly, I felt as if I was in Dr. Frankenstein’s lab. The only thing missing was the monster, but give it time.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, it was. Believe me, it was. Everyone’s so…so…intense.” I emphasized the word intense.
Cammy rubbed the back of her neck. “That’s because what they do has to be precise and demanding. I’m not telling you anything you haven’t heard before. Mistakes in the vineyard or the winery can cost this place a fortune. Now, don’t get me wrong, we have to know what we’re doing in the tasting room but our job is the fun one. We get to laugh and joke with the customers, get them to sample new wines and, most of all, go home with a bottle or if we’re lucky, a case. We’re entertainers as well as servers. Plus, we provide them with information about the business so we really have to know our stuff.”
As if on cue, I overheard Roger telling the women about the fermentation process.
“I see what you mean. But at least no one’s going to suffocate in here or get torn apart using a piece of heavy-duty equipment.”
“You make a good point.”
We walked over to the cash register and she introduced me to Lizzie, who immediately rushed over and gave me a hug. “Welcome. When Francine said her little sister was coming to manage the place this year, I couldn’t wait to meet you. I’m at your disposal most anytime. I’ll go over the accounts with you weekly and keep you updated on everything.”
Lizzie was one of those people whose warmth was literally contagious. I found myself hugging her back. Something totally out of my realm. “You don’t know how relieved I am to hear that.”
Just then the group of six women approached the cash register, each one holding a bottle or two in their hands.
“I’d better let you get back to work,” I said.
“Yep,” came a voice from behind me. “I’ve already done my share.”
“Norrie,” Cammy said, “meet Roger.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “Are you going to be working in here, too?”
“Uh, maybe once in a while if I’m needed. I have a full-time job as a screenwriter, so I’ll be spending most of my time with my laptop.”
“A screenwriter? One of those fancy Hollywood ones?”
“More like up and coming Canadian romance releases.” Unless I get kicked to the curb like Conrad Blyth.
“Bet my wife’s seen some of your movies. I can’t wait to tell her.”
Suddenly two couples walked into the room, followed by three women. Cammy put her hand on my shoulder and whispered, “We’d better hail them over to taste the wine. Catch you later.”
“Sure thing.” I moseyed over to the bistro and introduced myself to Fred, who looked as if he was still in the seventh grade. No visible sign of facial hair but longish brown hair that he tucked behind his ears.
“Great to meet you. I got the word from Francine you’d be in. My wife and I run the bistro. We’re both here on weekends but switch on and off during the week. Whatever you eat goes on a winery tab, so you don’t pay for food. I suppose Francine explained all of that to you.”
“Uh, sort of.”
I ordered a bacon, tomato and avocado panini and washed it down with a raspberry iced tea.
“I could get used to this. Having someone make my meals. I’m not much of a cook. After I go through all of the casseroles my sister has in the freezer, it’ll be One Eight Hundred Carry-Out.”
Fred arched his back until his shoulder blades met. “I can always whip up something to go for you. Just give me the word.”
When I left the tasting room building, my mood had improved considerably. That was before I ran into Elsbeth Waters again. This time in the parking lot.
“Oh good,” she said. “You’re right here. Saves me the time of walking into the building.”
“Uh, how can I help you, Ms…Miss Waters?”
“It’s Ms. and you can help me by keeping that miserable hound of yours on your own property. This morning I found him in front of my B & B shaking himself off and spreading nasty fleas all over the place. I shooed him off, of course, but he’ll come back. Hounds do that, you know. They run all over the place. See to it he doesn’t.”
Before a single syllable could even form in my mouth, she turned away, walked to her car and slammed the door. There was something familiar about that encounter but I couldn’t quite place it. Then it hit me—Almira Gulch. Straight out of The Wizard of Oz. At least Charlie didn’t bite Elsbeth like Toto did Almira. I closed my eyes and tried to picture it. Then I burst out laughing.
A couple walked past me and I heard the guy say, “This must be a fun winery. They’re laughing all the way into the parking lot.”
I didn’t bother to tell Francine or Jason about my latest encounter with their neighbor. I figured they had too much on their minds already. In less than three days they’d be in Costa Rica and Elsbeth Waters would be my problem. I tried not to think about it that night when we had dinner at Theo and Don’s.
Theo was right. Don was quite the chef. I’d never had baked zucchini surprise and it was marvelous.
“What’s the surprise in the recipe?” I asked. “It’s fantastic.”
Don and Theo looked at each other and laughed.
“Don’t tell her it’s cat hair from Isolde or she’ll never eat anything here again,” Don said. “As much as we shoo that cat out of the kitchen, she scurries back in.”
I looked around but didn’t see a cat in sight. “Isolde?”
“She’s a long-haired Norwegian Forest cat we found last winter. Once we got her inside, she refused to leave. Right now she’s sleeping on our bed. Anyway, cat hair is not the surprise in the recipe. I was only kidding. We use whatever we have on hand, but zucchini is always the staple. I soak it in egg and coat it in bread crumbs, along with eggplant or mushrooms. Or both. Then I bake it and toss whatever cheeses we have into the mix, along with my sauce. It’s never the same twice. That’s the surprise.”
“Speaking of surprises,” Theo said. “Your favorite persona non grata stopped by while you were cooking.”
Don’s eyes got wide. “Don’t tell me. Not Elsbeth.”
“The very harpy herself. This time she complained about our sign out front. Said the nautical look is akin to us offering bait and tackle instead of wine.”
“I swear that woman is in everyone’s business. One of these days she’s going to go too far and I hate to think about what will happen next.”
We moved on from discussing the Peaceful Pines’s proprietress and talked instead about winery events, Jason’s research project and movies we intended to see this summer. All in all, it was a really pleasant evening and when I went to bed, I slept through the night.
* * * *
Francine left a note for me on the kitchen table the next morning. It read:
I had to meet with John and Franz. There’s cereal in the pantry and some English muffins in the freezer. Don’t forget our meeting this
morning. I’ll be back in time to drive us over there. Oh, if Charlie begs for food, he’s already been fed.
Love, F.
Charlie apparently didn’t read the note because he whined and whimpered until I poured out a cup of kibble for him.
“I suppose you think I’m the new sucker around here,” I said.
The dog rubbed against my leg and licked my hand before burying his face in the food dish. I spent the morning doing my work and began to feel as if I could settle into some sort of routine around here. Francine was back by nine fifteen and wasted no time getting us to that meeting.
“There are only five of us in the group and that includes me,” she said. “You and I went to school with Steven Trobert. He was a year ahead of me. His folks still run Lake View Winery. I’m not sure if you ever met his mother, Catherine Trobert. Anyway, I heard Steven’s a lawyer somewhere up in Maine. And Rosalee Marbleton keeps a tight grip on Terrace Wineries. Nothing gets past her. The other lady is new, although she’s been in the winery business in Washington. I’ll introduce you when we get there.”
I remembered Billsburrow Hill Winery as being a small operation and nothing had changed, except for a sprucing up of the colonial building that housed their tasting room. It was under new management and Francine introduced me to its owner, Madeline Martinez, as soon as we arrived. Madeline was a brunette who looked to be in her late forties or maybe early fifties, with a short wedge haircut and slender figure.
“So pleased to meet you,” she said. “Come on in and help yourself to scones and coffee. Or, if you’d prefer, we can always open a bottle of wine. It’s a little past ten in the morning and perfectly legal to be selling and drinking in the county.” As if to prove her point, she turned her head and acknowledged the two ladies who were serving customers in the tasting room. “Rosalee and Catherine are on the enclosed porch and Stephanie Ipswich should be here any second. She runs Gable Hill Winery. Bought it from the Hendersons six or seven years ago.”
Madeline introduced me to the ladies just as Stephanie came into the room. Everyone chatted at once and I walked around shaking hands and nodding my head. I took a seat at the long rectangular table that overlooked their vineyard and watched as a steady stream of cars headed up the driveway.
