Pairing a Deception

by Nadine Nettmann

  “Would you like to add additional events?” asked the lady in blue.

  “We have special wine lunches and wine dinners,” said the lady in green.

  “With winemakers, too,” they said in unison.

  “No, thank you. There’s enough main events that we’ll be fine,” I replied. I knew the special events would have a high price tag and I didn’t want Dean to think he had to pay for those. He was already paying for the hotel.

  “Here you go,” said the lady in green as she handed me a badge that read Katie Stillwell, Staff.

  It was nice to know I was official. I put the lanyard around my neck and waited for the next badge, but the lady in green just continued to smile at me, as did the lady in blue.

  I glanced at Dean and then back at the ladies. “There should be a second badge. I have a volunteer guest and was told there would be two.” My lungs tightened as the lady in green looked at the list. If there wasn’t a volunteer badge for Dean, the weekend would be ruined. When the festival director, Mr. Tinsley, invited me to pour for the event, he clearly said I was free to bring a guest to help volunteer. Maybe my email to him had gotten lost, or perhaps he forgot to add Dean to the list. There was no way Dean would want to pay the hefty amount for a weekend pass and if he couldn’t go into the events with me, our weekend together would end up being a weekend apart. I tried to take a deep breath, but my lungs wouldn’t expand.

  The lady in blue reached over and pointed to a line on the list.

  “Oh, that’s right,” said the lady in green. “Here’s the note about a guest. My mistake.” She flipped through the accordion folder as relief flooded through me. “Dean, correct?”

  “Yes,” replied Dean. “It might be under John Dean.”

  “Nope,” the woman in blue said as she handed him a badge.

  Dean stared at the badge, his eyebrows raised. A smile spread across his face followed by a deep laugh.

  “What?” I asked.

  He kept laughing.

  I reached for his badge and he let it slide out of his hands. It said the Harvest Days Wine and Food Festival, just like mine, but then I noticed the name. It didn’t say John Dean, or even just Dean. It said Dean Stillwell. My stomach dropped.

  I looked up at him. “I’m so sorry. We can get it changed.” I turned to the ladies, but Dean put his hand on my shoulder.

  “No, it’s fine,” he said with a smile in his voice. “It’ll be fun.” He took the badge and put the lanyard around his neck. “It’s like I’m incognito.”

  “Dean, no. We can get this changed.” We didn’t even use the words boyfriend and girlfriend very freely, let alone something like this.

  “Don’t. I’m here as your guest and,” he said as he pointed to the badge, “everyone will definitely know I’m with you.”

  I waited to see if he was really okay with this. He had a small grin on his face. Dean Stillwell. It finally started to make me smile.

  “There we go,” said Dean. “Now you’re seeing the humor in this.”

  “Sort of.” I paused. “Mr. Stillwell.”

  “Hey now. That’s Detective Stillwell to you.”

  “Don’t forget your schedule of events,” said the lady in green as she held out two booklets. “The opening reception starts in the west tent at five o’clock. Ooh, that’s in about ten minutes.”

  “The seminars are in the ballrooms,” said the lady in blue.

  “And Sunday’s grand tasting event is in the east tent,” added the lady in green.

  “Thank you.” I took the booklets and handed one to Dean.

  “You’re welcome,” they replied in unison.

  I looked at Dean. “Well, shall we head over and get in line?”

  “A line to avoid other lines? Lead the way.” He held the door open for me.

  “Get ready, you’re going to learn a lot about wine this weekend.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. What about you? Aside from your flash cards, of course.”

  “There’s always something to learn. Always.” Both about wine and people, I wanted to add. I stared out at the lawn as guests gathered near the tents. One of them looked just like the lady in the white dress who had stomped her foot at the front desk. First impressions could be deceiving. Sometimes wines needed a little time to breathe before they opened up and were ready to be enjoyed. Sometimes people did, too.

  two

  pairing suggestion: cava—penedès, spain

  A sparkling wine similar to Champagne and ideal for celebrations and festivities.

  The lady was no longer in view when we reached the end of the line as it curved around the tent, away from the entrance.

  “The schedule says it should start now,” said Dean as he looked at the booklet. “They’re running late.”

  “Maybe they want to make sure all of the chefs and wineries are ready.” I glanced at my watch. “Hopefully they let people in soon.” I hoped this wasn’t a sign of things to come for the weekend.

  Dean took out his phone, a serious look on his face.

  “Work again? Is it still the Harper case?”

  He had taken a few calls about the case on the drive down and as much as he tried to hide it, I knew work was still on his mind.

  “No.” He swiped the screen.

  “Picture time?”

  He shook his head. “What is the Méthode Champenoise?”

  “Wait, what do you have there?” I tilted his phone so I could see it. The screen was full of the bright red flash card app. “You have my flash cards on here?”

  “Just a few I found online. I know they’re not yours, but I wanted to help you study.”

  I stared up at Dean, his blond hair moving in the breeze. The gesture surprised me. Even though the time I spent preparing for my exams put pressure on our relationship, he wanted to help me. “Thank you.”

  “What are you studying for?” asked the lady in front of us who had turned around. She was in her late forties with red hair that framed her face and bright green eyes surrounded by too much mascara. The festival lanyard competed for space with a sizeable white necklace that reminded me of Wilma Flintstone except her dress was blue.

  “The Advanced Sommelier exam,” I replied.

  “What?”

  “An exam about wine,” I added.

  “Oh.” She nodded as she brushed her bangs away from her eyes. “I love wine.”

  I smiled. “Me, too.”

  She returned her focus to the line in front of her.

  “So, what is the Méthode Champenoise?” repeated Dean. “Hopefully I’m saying that right.”

  “You pronounced it right. The traditional method for creating sparkling wine, where all the bubbles are actually produced inside the bottle.”

  Dean nodded. “Correct. What’s the Charmat Method?”

  The lady stepped forward.

  “I think the line might be moving.”

  “Katie?”

  “Sorry, we’re at a festival and I think the event is about to start.”

  Dean’s face shifted even with his stoic demeanor. “I know how much this test means to you. I want to make sure this weekend doesn’t get in the way.”

  “Thank you. I really love that you’re helping me, but I’m definitely ready to take a break from studying, at least for a few hours, and enjoy my time with you.” I paused. “And the Charmat Method is also known as the tank method and is primarily used for Prosecco. It’s where the second fermentation takes place in a tank and then is transferred into bottles.”

  Dean nodded as he put away his phone. “Well done. You’ve got this.”

  “Two or three questions doesn’t mean I’m going to pass the test,” I replied. “It has a really high fail rate, but I’m going to try my best.”

  “I have no doubt.”

 
The line moved and volunteers at the tent entrance handed out wineglasses.

  “This is your only glass. Don’t put it down ’cause it might be hard to get another one,” said the volunteer as he gave one to each of us.

  Dean looked at the glass in his hand. “Do we only taste one wine for this event?”

  “Yes, you can only stick with one wine even though there are hundreds here. Choose carefully.” I nudged him. “I’m kidding. You reuse the same glass.”

  “What about the leftover wine from each pour? Won’t it affect the next wine?”

  “Each time you want to taste a new one, the server will do a quick wash for you where they pour a small amount of wine in, swirl it around, and then dump it. Then they’ll pour the actual wine sample for you.” I smiled. “I love that you don’t want to mix the flavors. You’re becoming quite the connoisseur.”

  “I live in Napa and I’m dating a sommelier. I want to know as much about wine as I can.”

  We stepped into the tent.

  Tables lined the sides with notable chefs and local restaurants serving up small bites of lobster brioche, mini fish tacos, risotto, pasta, and then a dessert section with cake pops and chocolate mousse. Interspersed between the food tables were wine stands, ready to offer a tasting of their best product. They never poured full glasses of wine, only an ounce, much to the dismay of heavy drinkers who came to the festival to eat and drink as much as they could.

  “Are you sure you don’t need to pour today?”

  “No, just Sunday.” I glanced at the signs above each stand. “Today the representatives from the wineries are pouring. On Sunday it’s a general selection, so they wanted sommeliers to pour.”

  “Do you know any of them?”

  “I know Darius is supposed to be here, so we’ll see. I think he’s coming down early Sunday.” Darius was a member of my tasting group and a fellow employee at Trentino.

  Dean motioned to the tables. “Where would you like to start? You’re in charge this weekend. I’m following your lead.”

  I grinned. “I could get used to this, being in charge.”

  People milled about on the large stage in the center, clearly getting ready to make an announcement, and guests held their wineglasses as they stood in line at each of the food tables. Full or empty, the glasses would stay in their hands for the duration of the event.

  “Mini fish tacos.”

  “Of course,” replied Dean with a smile. “I should have guessed.”

  “No, a clear guess would have been pasta. I’m changing it up a bit. Keeping you on your toes.”

  “Don’t keep me on my toes too much. I might fall.” Dean said it with a laugh, but I could sense a serious tone underneath.

  When we had our mini tacos covered with shredded cabbage and aioli, we headed to a nearby wine stand and had the representative pour us each a tasting of the Sauvignon Blanc. Sauvignon Blanc was an ideal wine to pair with any dish you might want to squeeze a lemon on.

  “Are there tables?” asked Dean as he looked around.

  “No. Probably a high top or two, but usually you just eat as you stand or walk around.”

  “How do we balance the plate and the wine?”

  “Practice.” I smiled. “You’ll get it.” I held up my glass. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers,” replied Dean. “To our first weekend away. May it be a great one.”

  We clinked the glasses and I took a sip. The Sauvignon Blanc was nicely tart with lemon flavors and, as I suspected, paired perfectly with the fish tacos.

  Dean continued to struggle on how to eat while holding wine. I nudged him and pointed to my plate. I held my glass of wine by the stem, snuggled between my pinky and ring finger, while the plate was between my pointer finger and thumb, leaving my right hand completely free to eat.

  “Not my first rodeo,” I commented.

  “Clearly,” said Dean, and he shifted his glass and plate to mimic mine.

  “Welcome to the 2018 Harvest Days Wine and Food Festival!” a voice echoed throughout the tent. I glanced up at the stage. Standing at the podium was Hudson Wiley. He was revered in the wine community and passed the Master Sommelier Exam in his early twenties a few decades ago.

  We placed our empty plates on the collection tray to the side of the tent and walked toward the stage, wineglasses still in hand.

  “Do you know him?” asked Dean.

  I nodded. “I mean, I know who he is. I’ve never met him.” He was notorious for his incredible memory, his ability to identify a wine within seconds, and the rumored amount of time he spent on his hair, whose curls were always styled in perfect form with a lot of gel.

  “We’re glad you could join us for this grand celebration,” Hudson continued. “It’s going to be a fantastic weekend and I’m honored to be your emcee. If you know who I am, then you know I’m Master Sommelier Hudson Wiley. If you don’t know me, then why not?”

  The crowd laughed.

  “That must be the pin you’ll wear one day,” whispered Dean, referencing Hudson’s large red MS pin glinting in the lights. “But first the green one next week,” he added.

  “You remembered the color of the Advanced pin?” His attention to this detail surprised me.

  “Of course. I remember everything about you.”

  “Who here likes wine?” asked Hudson, his hands up in the air to get a response.

  The crowd roared.

  “Who here likes food?”

  The crowd roared again.

  “Well, you’re in the right place! We have a lot of great events lined up, and I hope you’ll come and greet me throughout the festival. We might even have a surprise or two, but I’ll keep those under wraps at the moment. I can’t give everything away, it would spoil the fun.” He paused after the last word, as if he wasn’t exactly having fun himself. His expression quickly transformed into his game face to hide any emotion and he continued. “Please let our wonderful host, the New Sierra Hotel, know if you need anything, and above all, enjoy yourself.” Hudson raised a glass of Champagne. “Cheers!”

  “Cheers!” replied the crowd in unison.

  Hudson stepped back from the podium and shook hands with a shorter gentleman in horn-rimmed glasses who stood nearby.

  “Well, what food would you like to try next?” asked Dean. “I think I saw a pasta dish over there.”

  “Actually,” I said as Hudson stepped down from the stage, “I’d like to meet Hudson before the festival gets too busy. I’m sure people will want to talk to him all weekend, but if we can meet him now … then we can relax and enjoy the festival.”

  “Of course,” replied Dean. “Pasta can wait.” His voice had a hint of disbelief. He knew I rarely turned down pasta.

  Hudson’s glass of Champagne had already been replaced by red wine when we reached him. People gathered around him and he beamed a smile with every hand he shook. He genuinely seemed to be a people person, or had at least perfected his game face to appear so.

  “We still need to talk,” said the woman in the white dress from the Lancaster lobby. She was in her mid-twenties with high cheekbones, skin that glowed like a healthcare professional, and a toned frame that suggested she’d never eaten a carb in her life. She exuded a mix of confidence and urgency, and although she was at a wine festival, she didn’t have a glass or plate of food in her hands. “You promised.”

  “Now’s not the time. Later,” said Hudson as he moved aside and shook hands with someone else.

  “Seems to be a little tension there,” said Dean.

  “Yep,” I replied. “Maybe she still didn’t get a room.”

  “Perhaps she wants his.”

  “Dean.”

  “What?” He shrugged. “It’s a valid comment.”

  The woman continued to hover a few feet away, pushing her dark brown hair behind her shoulders, t
hough some of the strands fell forward, too short to stay back. Her focus was only on Hudson as people circled around him.

  “Want to get food and come back?” asked Dean. “This might take a while.”

  “He’s the star of the festival—the crowds will only get worse as the majority of people arrive tomorrow. Let’s wait one more minute.”

  Hudson finished shaking hands with the next person and I saw a gap. I took advantage of the opportunity and stepped forward. “Hudson Wiley.” I put out my hand as my lungs slightly tightened. I wanted to pass the tests like he did. I wanted the pin he earned. I wanted the respect that he had. “My name is Katie Stillwell. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine.” His handshake was firm and he was one of those people who looked you directly in the eye as if you had his entire attention and not a line of people waiting behind you to talk to him.

  I motioned to Dean. “This is John Dean.”

  “Welcome to Harvest Days,” he replied as they shook hands. Hudson returned his focus to me and stared as he took a sip of his wine. “Katie Stillwell,” he repeated. “I know that name.”

  The comment surprised me but I maintained my composure, my game face on. “I’m a sommelier at Trentino in San Francisco. Maybe you’ve dined there?”

  “Perhaps,” he said and sipped again. “But I know it from somewhere else.”

  The tone in his voice made me wonder if he had heard about me solving the case at Frontier Winery. Or the work I did for Paul Rafferty. Or the times I had been questioned by police and even arrested. Had my troubles with the law extended to the wine world as well? Would it affect my journey to Master Sommelier?

  A gentleman came up to him and Hudson shook his hand before returning his attention to me. “Katie Stillwell,” he repeated.

  Dean shifted next to me. “Do you live in the Bay Area? Maybe you know her from up there.”

  “No, I’m over in Denver.” Hudson paused as he rubbed his forehead with his pointer finger. “Sorry, I’m usually better than this. I must be a little rattled. Still, don’t tell me.”