"That's true." Ava nodded. "I'm exhausted. How do you think it went?"
I crossed my fingers. "So far so good. I guess we'll really know when booking orders start coming in."
"I saw Bradley scarfing paella like it was going out of style," she said, scooping a bit of caramel up with her index finger. "I hope that means he's planning a good review."
"Ditto." I peeked into the almost empty pan and dipped a finger full of caramel myself. "How did things go at the Price-Pennington table?"
"Now there's a stoic bunch." Ava rolled her eyes. "Lots of pleasantries and small talk. Tennis, bridge, the latest gossip from the club, repeat."
"Any of it about the Sirah?"
Ava nodded. "Chas certainly seemed to like it. I think he was getting a bit tipsy as he told me about his golf handicap," she added.
"The wine wasn't the only thing he seemed to like." I shot her a grin.
"He's a married man, Emmy."
"Who had a healthy appreciation for your cleavage."
"He was admiring my pendant," Ava protested.
"Sure."
Ava gave me a friendly punch in the shoulder. "Please. You know I'm not into the country club set. He's not my type."
I raised an eyebrow her way. "That's not what you said when he pulled up in the sports car."
"Okay, okay. I'll admit, he's hot."
"Even I would admit that," I said, ignoring how long it had been since I'd been with a hot guy.
"But he's so pretentious. Every other word was a name drop. I swear the conversation was specifically designed to make me feel intimidated by his enormous…"
My other eyebrow rose.
"…ego," she finished with a sweet smile.
I laughed. "Well, as long as his wife had a good time—"
"And books her next corporate event here," Ava cut in.
"—and buys a few cases of Sirah, that's all that matters."
"I'm sure she did, and I hope she will," Ava told me, licking her finger.
I left Ava in the kitchen and made my way to the tasting bar, where I helped Jean Luc with the remains of the party. An hour later, we had the big cleanup done, and the day caterers had been paid, thanked, and tipped for their hard work. Conchita had put away the last of the heavy cast-iron pans, and Hector had doused the outside fires.
I made my rounds, locking doors, turning out lights, and shutting the main buildings down for the evening. I bid Jean Luc good night and closed the tasting room, then made my way to the cave to secure the cellar.
I was just about to throw the big toggle switch that controlled all the lights, when something caught my eye. A broken wineglass sat on the red clay tiles across the room, where rows of oak barrels stood under sandstone arches. I frowned. No one was supposed to be drinking down here. I crossed the room, my heels clacking on the floor as I passed the foot of an old vertical hundred-gallon barrel once used for aging Zinfandel.
Just on the other side, I spied the guilty party. Slumped on the floor sat the drunken blond godling, Chas Pennington. I swallowed down annoyance at the idea Chas thought he could help himself to our private reserves. Especially after guzzling the Petite Sirah as he had.
"Mr. Pennington?" I called. "We need to get you up now."
No response.
"Mr. Pennington?" I said louder. I leaned forward and jostled his shoulder, causing his head to loll backward.
I stifled a gasp as his face turned toward mine. His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling in an unseeing gaze, his lips blue, his skin ice cold.
Chas Pennington wasn't dead drunk…he was just dead.
A SIP BEFORE DYING
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Peril in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 11) Page 27
