Dean made eye contact with me and motioned to the tables of food. I could tell he was uncomfortable, though there was no reason to be. I glanced at Hudson’s left hand. There was a gold band around his ring finger. But I didn’t want to put strain on Dean. It was time to go.
“I don’t think we’ve actually met before,” I said. “But if you remember, let me know. It was nice to meet you.” I moved to the side to let the next person talk to him.
“Yes.” Hudson stared out across the crowd and then snapped his fingers. “Ah, I’ve got it. You’re taking the Advanced Exam this week, right?”
I stepped back to my original position in front of him. “I am.” My surprise was clearly reflected in my voice.
“That’s where I’ve seen your name. On the list of applicants. I’m proctoring the exam.”
A swarm of nerves shot through me. “I’ll be seeing you on Tuesday in Arizona then,” I managed to say with a smile, but I knew it didn’t hide the tension.
“You will.” Hudson finished his glass and someone handed him a fresh one filled with red wine. A perk of being the guest of honor at the festival, I was sure. “We almost had to cancel that exam as we didn’t have a proctor due to some family emergencies. Fortunately, I’m able to fill in.”
After all my studying and prep, the last thing I wanted to do was wait another few months to take the test.
“I’m glad you didn’t have to cancel it,” replied Dean, who seemed much more comfortable now that he knew how Hudson knew my name. “How many people are taking the exam?”
Hudson paused. “I think we have fifty-two this time around.” He nodded toward me. “Are you ready for it?”
“I think so. I mean, I’ve studied a lot.” I stopped, knowing I was already sounding unsure of myself. I stood up straighter. I still met with my blind tasting group twice a week at Trentino, I had thousands of flash cards, and I had spent every spare minute of the last year studying. “I’m ready,” I replied, even though I knew the test was extremely difficult and many didn’t pass the first time.
“Good, I look forward to seeing you there.” He glanced around and made eye contact with the woman in white, who was still only a few feet away. She shifted her focus to me and gave a hopeful expression, as if she could use the moment to start talking to all three of us.
Hudson returned his attention to me. “I have to go meet some people …” He paused. “Then I’m hosting one of the seminars, but let’s get drinks tonight. I don’t like to stay at the main hotel for these events. I’m over at the Lancaster.”
“We are, too,” I replied.
“Great, drinks in the bar later. See you both then.” He glanced over his shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.
The lady smoothed out her white dress and stared at us as if she debated approaching. I didn’t know what was going on with her and Hudson, but I knew I didn’t want to get into the middle of it. I linked arms with Dean. “Ready for the pasta plate you mentioned?”
“Definitely.” Dean led the way as we walked over to the table. “Was it just me or was he flirting with you?”
“Really? I didn’t think so. And he’s married.”
“That doesn’t stop some people.”
“Dean, he was just being friendly.”
“Just be on your guard,” Dean replied.
“A, I’m always on my guard, and B, you have nothing to worry about. My eyes are only for you.” I also wanted to add that Hudson Wiley was very well respected, but I knew that people could show a different side when no longer on public display.
“Just throwing the warning out there. I trust you, I just don’t trust everyone else.”
“Or anyone else,” I added. “Always detecting things.”
“Just like a sommelier with wine.” A small smile appeared on Dean’s face. He turned to the table and picked up two of the pasta plates. “Well, wine and pasta.” He handed me the appetizer plate that had a small nest of noodles covered in Alfredo sauce and peas. “To my favorite self-described carb-o-holic.”
“Ha! Thanks.” I had used the term on several occasions, but it made me smile to have Dean use it, too.
“Since you’re my personal sommelier, what would you like to pair with this?”
“Let’s go with Chardonnay.” I looked up at the signs hanging above each of the tables. “How about Bartlett? We have their wines on the list at Trentino.”
“My family has a friend there.”
“At Bartlett? How have we not talked about this before?”
Dean shrugged, almost a sheepish look on his face. “I don’t know, it hasn’t come up.”
I felt bad for asking the question, but I said it before I thought about it. There was still so much to learn about each other, but that’s why this weekend was key. There would be time to chat without the stress of work or studying. Well, at least not too much studying.
Dean held his glass toward the pourer but then pulled it back. “Wait, are we attending a wine seminar after this? Hudson mentioned one.”
“Of course. I want to attend every seminar offered this weekend.” Not only was it a way to learn facts that I might not know, it was the opportunity to taste wines from vineyards all over the world. “Each one will usually have three to six glasses from different wineries.”
“That’s a lot of wine for me today. Maybe I should slow down and skip the Chardonnay.”
I glanced at Dean’s glass. “You’ve only had a one-ounce pour. Take as little as you want, but be sure to try everything. There’s nothing wrong with tasting and spitting out the wine. Moderation is key.” It felt strange to be lecturing a member of law enforcement on drinking, but I wanted to make sure Dean didn’t feel like he had to keep up.
“Will it be an issue if I spit out the wine?”
“No, not at all. A lot of the wineries expect it, especially at a festival. That way you don’t get intoxicated and you can taste of lot of wines. Listen, there’s a lot of great wine here this weekend and I don’t want you to miss out. It’s going to be a wine-filled weekend, but we’ll both drink in moderation.”
“There’s one catch,” Dean said slowly. “You mentioned you wanted to go to every seminar, but unfortunately we’ll have to miss some on Saturday for the surprise. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you before.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m excited to see what you have planned. Do I get a hint yet?”
“Not yet, but I promise you’ll be happy. I want to make sure the weekend goes well.”
“It will.” I turned around and noticed that the lady in the white dress was no longer tracking Hudson’s every move. Her entire focus was on me.
three
pairing suggestion: zinfandel—lodi, california
Prior to Prohibition, Zinfandel was the most planted varietal in the state.
After the opening ceremonies, we headed inside the New Sierra Hotel for the wine seminars.
“The History of Zinfandel or Syrah versus Shiraz,” said Dean, as he read out the listings. “What’s the difference between Syrah and Shiraz?”
“Shiraz is what they call Syrah in Australia.”
“Ah, noted,” said Dean. “Do you have a seminar preference?”
“Zin, for sure.” Not only was it the one hosted by Hudson, but I also had an affinity for Zinfandel, the red grape grown in California with a jammy quality to it.
“The Whittier Ballroom, II.”
The hotel’s larger ballrooms were divided into smaller rooms by floor-to-ceiling partitions. Rows of tables filled the room and the stage at the front had a long table and six chairs behind it. People slowly filtered in, selecting their seats at the tables.
“There’s spots available in the front row,” said Dean.
“No way,” I replied. “Not in school and not now.”
“So you were that kind of student, huh?”<
br />
“I was an okay student, just not one who wanted a lot of attention, such as being in the front.” I pointed to the third row on the left. “How about there? That way we’re close enough but not too close.”
“I’m learning more and more about you,” replied Dean as we walked toward the third row.
“You were a front-row student, weren’t you?”
“No comment.” Dean smiled.
Of the four seats, I took the second chair in and Dean took the aisle on my right. Every space had a white paper placemat with six numbered circles and a glass of red wine on top of each.
“How do we know what the wine is?”
I laughed. “They’re all Zin.”
He nudged me. “Okay, smart girl. But why aren’t any of them …” Dean didn’t say the next part, but I knew he was going to say pink, referencing the slightly sweet White Zinfandel wine.
“These are Zinfandel, not White Zinfandel. As for the wineries, they usually have a numbered list along the side that says what they are.” I looked around the placemat but there was nothing.
“They’re passing something out,” said Dean. He motioned to a lady putting half-size pieces of paper at each seat.
She reached our row and handed us each a sheet. “Sorry about that, meant to have these out earlier.”
“No worries.” I studied the list and smiled. Of the six Zinfandels we were about to taste, three of them were Old Vines. Zinfandel vines aged well and California had some that were more than one hundred years old. Every glass of Old Vine Zinfandel was a glass of history.
“Look who’s a front-row student,” said Dean. I followed his gaze to the woman in white from the opening ceremonies. She sat in the seat directly in front of Hudson’s position at the podium.
Hudson was trying to look everywhere except at the woman. He wasn’t wearing his game face, the practiced pose to hide any and all emotions, but instead looked disturbed, continually rubbing his forehead with his thumb.
“Well, she’s persistent, I’ll give her that. But look at him,” I whispered. “He’s clearly bothered by it. She should take a step back. I mean, not in her seat, but the proverbial kind. Hounding him, or anyone, isn’t the way to get what she wants.”
“Maybe she likes him and is trying to get his attention,” said Dean.
“I don’t think that’s the right way to do it.” I watched as Hudson gave a brief but subtle glare to the woman and then focused on the crowd. “I mean, she has his attention, but I don’t think it’s the right kind.”
“Howdy,” said a man with gray hair and medium build as he motioned to the two seats left in our row, closest to the wall. “Are those free?”
“They’re all yours.”
“Great,” he said as he walked past with another man with a similar build but whose gray hair was the opposite. Where his receded in the middle but was strong on the sides, the other man’s receded on the sides but was strong in the middle. Almost like they were adjoining puzzle pieces.
“I’m Rick,” he said as he sat down to my left. “This is Roll.” He tilted his head to the second man.
“Rick Roll,” I repeated.
“Yep, as in you’ve been Rick Rolled. Get it?” His reference to the Rick Astley clickbait fad that went around a few years ago cracked him up and the scent of wine emanated as he laughed. Clearly he’d made several return trips to the wine tables at the opening ceremonies. He put out his hand, a huge grin still on his face. “Actually, my name is Walt. No roll. Just Walt.” He pointed to his friend. “This here’s my buddy Ben. We left the wives at home this weekend.”
“Katie Stillwell.” I shook both of their hands. My mother told me to always introduce myself with my full name, even though they had only said their first names.
“Dean.” He leaned over and shook also.
“And so it begins,” said Walt. “Another year, another weekend of wine.”
“I take it you’ve been here before.”
He took a sip of all six glasses before answering. “Nearly every year since it began. We missed the first year in 2002, but we’ve kept it steady since then. How about you?”
“This is our first time to this one.” I motioned to Dean and myself.
“Ah, newbies. You’ll drink a lot of wine. Here, I’ll teach you something.”
I smiled as I waited to hear what he was going to say.
“Are ya ready?” Walt pointed to the glass. “This here is a red wine.” He broke out in a fit of laughter.
I laughed a little as I thought about the number of flash cards on my phone and the knowledge I had. If only Walt knew. I picked up the first glass and sniffed it. It had the classic indicators of Zinfandel with a jammy raspberry and black cherry.
“How do you like the festival so far?” said Ben as he leaned forward to see me.
I glanced at Dean and then back at the two men. “It’s good. I mean, it’s barely just started. But so far, it’s fun.”
“We enjoyed the opening ceremonies,” said Dean. “I think you did, too.” Clearly I wasn’t the only one who could tell that Walt had imbibed more than a little.
“Yeah, they run a good show here. I would say this one’s our favorite out of all the festivals,” said Ben. “We come every year, get the full pass, and spend the weekend drinking wine and smoking cigars in the hot tub at night. Leave all of the stress back in the city.”
“Sounds nice,” I added, though I wasn’t into smoking cigars. I liked the idea of attending a wine and food festival every year, away from stress and without financial worries.
“You smoke the cigars in the hot tub here?” asked Dean in a serious tone. California had strict no-smoking laws regarding hotels and I assumed he was thinking of those.
“No, Ben has a second home about thirty minutes away,” said Walt. “This is our annual guys’ trip.” He slammed his hand down on the table, the glasses of wine clinking together. “Okay, which is your favorite festival?” he said with a smile. “We’ve told you ours, now you tell us yours.”
“Napa,” said Dean without missing a beat. I wasn’t sure if he had actually attended a wine and food festival before, but I appreciated his quick response.
“Welcome, welcome,” said Hudson from the stage. “Let’s get started, shall we?” He held his staple red wine in his hand and I had a feeling I wouldn’t see him empty-handed the entire weekend. “There might be a few stragglers, but it looks like everyone is ready and since we have all of this fantastic wine in front of us, I say we get started.” He turned to the four men and one woman on the stage next to him. “Our panel today consists of the people who made this wine. That’s right, the winemakers. So if you have any questions, they should be able to answer them. And if not, we’ll throw them out. Or make them pick up our bar tabs.” He grinned.
“You’ll be leading these one day,” whispered Dean. “Master Sommelier Katie Stillwell.”
“I have to admit, I really like the sound of that.” But as Hudson continued with the panel, the thought of staring out at all those people slightly unnerved me. I had never been on a panel before. But then again, maybe it would be a way to tell the wine’s story to a large group. I did love sharing the journey of the wine from the grapes in the vineyard to finally ending up in a bottle to start a new story with whoever opened it.
“Let’s start with the first wine. From what I’ve been told, it’s a great one,” said Hudson.
I picked up the first glass of Zinfandel, but a commotion near the stage took my attention.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” said the woman in the front row as she stood up, her focus finally no longer on Hudson. Her white dress had a large patch of red wine down one side and the two people next to her were trying to dab marks from their clothing. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated.
“We need cleanup,” said the man with horn-rimmed glasses who wa
s on stage with Hudson at the opening ceremonies. He walked down the aisle, a radio to his lips.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get it all taken care of and pour everyone new glasses,” said Hudson into the microphone. “Not everyone can hold their liquor as well as others.” He laughed, but the statement didn’t come across as friendly.
The two seated ladies near her looked annoyed, their clothing clearly stained.
“Excuse me.” The woman in white moved out of her row and briskly walked down the aisle toward the exit, her expression on the verge of tears.
“Poor girl,” I said to Dean. “It’s an easy thing to do, to tip over the glasses. You move your hand wrong and all of them can go down.”
He nodded. “Just you be careful.”
I motioned to the glasses in front of him. “You too, Detective.”
“As soon as we get more wine in the front, let’s talk about some Zin, shall we?” said Hudson, but he wasn’t looking at the row. He was staring at the back of the room, watching the woman leave.
four
pairing suggestion: sauvignon blanc —napa valley, california
Grown in a warmer climate, this wine tends to have medium acidity and notes of peach.
When the panel ended, Dean and I stayed in our seats as the ballroom cleared. I didn’t want to spend several minutes slowly moving with the crowd, so I figured it was best to wait. I took one last sip of the Zinfandel from Paso Robles. It was more floral than the other five, which came from various regions of California, and it seemed to suit my palate at that moment. The opportunity to taste the exact same grape grown in different areas, therefore each creating a unique wine, was one of the key elements I loved about wine and food festivals.
“Hey, that was fun, being seat neighbors,” said Walt. “We hope to see you at the next one.”
“Us, too,” I replied with a smile.
He hit the table with his palm and pointed. “You can count on it.” He shuffled past the chairs.
Pairing a Deception Page 3
