Pairing a Deception

by Nadine Nettmann

  I raised my hand slightly and gave a small wave.

  “Ms. Stillwell comes to us from the Bay Area, where she’s a sommelier at Trentino Restaurant. She’s also about to become an Advanced Sommelier, this week, in fact.”

  If I pass, I thought, but my game face remained solid.

  “Ms. Stillwell, take it away.”

  I took a deep breath and stepped forward to the microphone. I realized I had no idea what the wines even were. In my haste to get to the ballroom with Mr. Tinsley, I hadn’t looked at the name of the seminar. I originally planned to attend the white wine seminar, before Jocelyn’s body was found, but the six glasses of red wine on the table told me this wasn’t that one. Like an unknown answer on the Advanced Exam, I needed to figure it out. Two hundred attendees were waiting and watching my every move.

  “Good morning,” I said as I glanced down at the paper next to the wines. I went down the list. They were all Pinot Noir, a staple of Santa Barbara County. Relief flooded through me. I could do this. I knew Pinot. I felt my confidence returning as I pushed the events of the morning away from my mind, if only for the next hour. “Welcome to the Pinot Noir seminar. We have six great wines here, all local from the area.” My voice shook a little so I stood up straighter and pretended I was in the Advanced Exam. “Santa Barbara is an excellent region for Pinot Noir due to the extended growing season and the fog that creeps through the mountain pass. It’s a difficult grape to grow, but it thrives here. Pinot Noir also happens to be an ideal wine to pair with almost any food. It’s known as a universal pairing wine and can complement both heavy and light dishes.”

  I glanced up at the audience, but their faces were blank. They weren’t entertained; they were watching a scared sommelier trying to lead a seminar. This wasn’t what they paid for. My lungs tightened further, but I had to keep going.

  “Let’s start with the first wine.” I picked up the glass, relieved that my hand didn’t shake as I held it. “As you can see, Pinot is a lighter red wine. This is because it’s a thin-skinned grape.” But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t coming across right. I didn’t want to go through each glass, tasting the wine. I needed something more.

  The overhead lights reflected on the red color of the wine in my hand and it gave me an idea. I would take it back to blind tasting and the visual differences.

  “If you hold the glass at an angle with the white tablecloth behind it, you’ll find that you can see through the wine. One of the distinct qualities of Pinot is that it is a lighter wine, whereas with a bolder red, such as Syrah, which is also grown here in Santa Barbara, you won’t be able to see through it.”

  I glanced at the crowd. Several attendees held their glasses at an angle. My focus drifted to Dean. He was grinning.

  “In fact,” I said as my confidence increased, “you might even be able to read through the wine.” I held the list up behind the glass. “Yep, you can. Now, if this was a Cabernet or any of the darker reds, this would not be possible. It’s one of the visual clues we use with blind tasting to identify a wine. The first thing we look at is the color. But before I get more into that, Santa Barbara is known for producing excellent Pinot Noir, so let’s all have a taste of the first one, which comes from the Santa Maria Valley.”

  I lifted my glass and glanced out at the audience. I didn’t recognize many of the faces, but I could see Walt and Ben in the third row, though they were busy looking at their wines. There was a lady with dark hair in the fifth row and for a moment, I thought it was Jocelyn, but I knew it wasn’t. If Hudson was guilty, that was one thing, but if he was innocent, the killer might be in the room right now, watching me.

  ten

  pairing suggestion: mencía—bierzo, spain

  This aromatic red wine holds up well and is ideal for fans of Pinot Noir.

  When the panel was finished, I sat down in the chair on the stage. Slumped into the chair was more like it. I was exhausted. The seminar was only an hour, but it drained me being on-point that whole time. Even at the restaurant, I had momentary breaks, but the seminar was a steady stream of focus and attention.

  The crowd funneled out of the ballroom as an attendee approached the stage. “I loved everything you said about the wine.”

  I leaned forward and met her eyes. “Thank you so much.”

  “I never realized you could read through Pinot Noir. I’ve always thought of it as just another red wine.”

  “That was a good seminar,” said a gentleman passing by. “Well done.”

  Another lady around the same age joined the first one. “You have so much passion for wine. It’s contagious.”

  It was what I hoped for every night as I approached tables, that the guests would become as excited about the bottle of wine as I was.

  “Where do you work?” asked the first lady. “I want to come to your restaurant.”

  “I’m up in San Francisco at a restaurant called Trentino.”

  “Well, shoot. That’s really far from me. I live in San Diego.” The lady glanced at her friend. “Road trip!”

  “Yes! We’re gonna come visit one day. Just wait.”

  “I look forward to it.” I took out a packet of business cards from my pocket. “Here’s the name of the restaurant. Just so you don’t forget.” I handed one to each of them.

  “Can’t wait!” The lady scrutinized the card. “Now how do you pronounce this word again?”

  “It’s somm”—I waved my hand around—“all”—I put my hands up in the air—“yay.”

  “Ah, I like that! Sommelier.” The one lady nudged the other lady. “Come on, Judy. Let’s go read through some more Pinot.”

  They walked away and I decided it was time to get off the stage. I went down the steps and a wave of relaxation fell over me. It was great to be on the floor again.

  Dean ambled up, a smile on his face. “You did really well. I was so proud of you. I mean, I am proud of you.”

  “Thanks. I’m not a fan of being on the stage in front of everyone, but I’m glad it went okay. The audience seemed to like it.”

  “Excellent job, Ms. Stillwell,” said Mr. Tinsley as he approached. “I couldn’t watch all of it, as I had to check the other seminar, but from what I saw, you’re a natural.”

  “Thank you.” I wanted to add that it didn’t feel natural, but I decided to stay silent.

  “Truly excellent,” repeated Mr. Tinsley as he reviewed the paper in his hand. “The next seminar is at two o’clock. Champagne. May I put you down for that one?”

  “But what about Hudson?”

  “If Mr. Wiley is here, I’ll have him host, but I have no idea what his schedule is at this point. If he’s not available, can you fill in?”

  “Of course.”

  “Fantastic,” said Mr. Tinsley as he made a few notes. “The train is back on the tracks. All systems go.” He nodded at us, again at his paper, and walked away.

  “Two seminars in one day,” said Dean. “Better get used to this. I see a lot of festivals in your future.”

  “We’ll see.” We walked toward the ballroom exit. “I wonder if Mr. Tinsley will tell the crowd at the next one what’s going on with Hudson.”

  “Sometimes people are better not knowing.”

  “I guess. But if Hudson is gone all weekend, they’re going to have to tell the attendees something.”

  “You’d be surprised,” said Dean. “‘Called away on business’ can mean a lot of things, and if people are focused on the festival, they might not care. It depends on if they arrest him. Right now I would say they’re only gathering evidence, so I would assume he’ll be back sometime today unless they charge him. Though he might not be up for hosting wine seminars or enjoying the festival.”

  “No, I think he’s going to jump right back in. Wine is his life.” I glanced around at the people milling about in the lobby. “If he comes back,” I
added. I didn’t like to think of a Master Sommelier being charged with murder. Or committing murder. And maybe he hadn’t.

  Dean’s phone beeped and his face changed as he looked at it.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, just some more news on the Harper case. It can wait until Monday.” He put his phone away and took the schedule from his pocket. “There are two lunches starting soon on the lawn. One with tickets and one without. Shall we head over?”

  I was about to reply but stopped when I saw Hudson Wiley standing near the lobby doors, a blank expression on his face. “Look who’s back.”

  eleven

  pairing suggestion: aglianico—campania, italy

  A full-bodied red wine that is best consumed after aging for a while.

  Hudson’s hair had been smoothed out by water instead of his usual gel and he still looked disheveled compared to his normal appearance.

  “Hudson,” I said when we were close enough. “Everything okay?”

  He stared at me in a daze until the recognition set in. “They asked me some questions. Unfortunately, I don’t think I had the right answers. I don’t remember much. They might ask me more later, but for now, I can be here.” He looked around. “I’m glad the festival is still going on.”

  “Katie took over for you at the Pinot seminar,” said Dean. “She did an excellent job.”

  Hudson raised his eyebrows. “Wow, thank you. I really appreciate it. I didn’t want that whole mess,” he said as he waved his hand toward the Lancaster, “to distract from the festival.” He turned back to me. “What did you say at the seminar?”

  “I went over how Pinot Noir is a thin-skinned grape—”

  “No,” Hudson interrupted. “I mean about me. Did you say why I wasn’t there?”

  “Mr. Tinsley said you were away on business and would be back soon.”

  “Perfect.” He nodded and glanced around. “All is back to normal.”

  “Normal?” replied Dean.

  “Where can I get a drink around here?”

  “The bar is to your left, but I’m sure you already know that,” said Dean. I could tell by his tone that he wasn’t happy with the way Hudson was handling the situation. It was a little puzzling to me, too. He didn’t seem to care.

  “Actually,” said Hudson, “it should be time for the lunch.” He took out his phone. “In less than ten minutes. At least I’ve only missed one activity. Let’s go over to the main tent now. I can get you guys in early.”

  “Perhaps you should take it easy and rest,” said Dean.

  The question was pointed. I knew firsthand that interrogation was exhausting, yet Hudson seemed to have bounced back like nothing had happened.

  “Rest? Why? There’s a festival. Come on.” He pushed through the lobby doors without a care in the world, as if someone hadn’t just been murdered.

  I looked at Dean. “Want to follow him?”

  “Absolutely.”

  We left the hotel and headed across the lawn to the lunch tent, where Hudson was already waiting at the entrance near the line of people.

  “Hudson, is it true you were questioned by police?” said a lady from the front of the line.

  “I heard someone died,” said a man nearby.

  “Committed suicide, I heard,” said another attendee.

  “No, it was two people,” said someone else.

  “Now, now,” said Hudson as he put out his hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s focus on the wonderful wine and food we’re about to enjoy. In fact”—he paused as he stepped inside the tent and returned with a bottle of wine—“this one’s on me. Who wants wine?”

  The volunteers handed out glasses and people held them forward, waiting for Hudson to pour a splash of wine. One bottle wouldn’t go far with this many people.

  “You’re more experienced at this than me,” I whispered to Dean. “But do innocent people act as nonchalant as this?”

  “Death can do strange things to people.” Dean’s focus was on Hudson, and I could tell he was studying every little movement.

  “It just doesn’t feel right,” I added. “It’s common decency to show a little respect for the deceased.”

  “Think back to the Pinot seminar,” said Dean. “No one would have been able to tell you found a dead body this morning. You were wearing your game face, as you call it?”

  “I guess.” I watched Hudson pour wine for the guests with a practiced smile on his face. “You think he’s guilty?”

  “Verdict is still out,” replied Dean.

  Hudson emptied the rest of the bottle. “Sorry, folks, that’s it for now. But I’m sure they’ll open the doors in just a few minutes.” He waved us over. “Want to go in?”

  “Sure.” I turned to Dean. “Ready for the festivities?”

  “You mean the questioning?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I know you, Katie Stillwell. I know how you work.”

  I thought I saw a flash of a smile on his face, but it was gone before I could fully register it. “Don’t pretend like you don’t want to ask him more questions, too. I know you, Detective Dean.”

  “That’s Detective Stillwell to you at the moment. Come on.”

  Hudson opened another bottle as we entered the tent. He held out two glasses.

  “Thanks,” I said as I took one. “Hey, did you remember where Jocelyn wanted to take you last night?”

  “No,” said Hudson as he poured the white wine. “This is a local Chardonnay. The winemaker does a great job of highlighting the baked yellow apple in it.”

  I waited to take a sip. “So nothing on where she wanted you to go?”

  “You guys are starting to sound like the police.”

  I was about to point out that Dean was in law enforcement but decided to keep that gem to myself for now. “Just curious, and we’re only trying to help. A murder investigation, or even just being on the suspect list, could be devastating for your career.”

  “You come across as a man who likes to protect his reputation,” added Dean.

  Hudson’s face changed. “It might look like I don’t care, but I do. Although I didn’t like the way Jocelyn went around things the past month, trying to get her business going the way she did, I’m sorry that she’s gone.”

  “Wait, the past month? I thought you just met her yesterday?” The realization shook me and even Dean lowered his glass.

  “No, I met her a few years ago at a festival up north. I don’t remember it very well, but she reminded me of it yesterday at the opening ceremonies. When I met her before, she was thinking about getting involved with a wine company or something. Apparently, I told her to go for it. Sounds like me. I’m always trying to encourage people in their careers in wine. I didn’t think she would come after me, insisting I be a part of it.”

  “What did she do the last month?” asked Dean, his tone flat.

  Hudson took a swig of his glass. “She came to my house in Denver a few weeks ago. Actually knocked on my door and my wife answered. Sarah was none too happy about that. It led to a fight later. She started asking me all sorts of questions about my work trips, doubting me. It wasn’t good.”

  I waited to see if Dean had more questions, but he was silent. “You said Jocelyn insisted you be a part of a company. What was it?” I asked.

  “Oh, she wanted to have my name all over it for barely any money. I didn’t want that. I have a reputation to protect. Her whole business model was based on the idea that she would use my name to push her wine. No thanks. I don’t care how much she wanted a business to succeed, she went about it in the wrong way.”

  The tent doors opened and the crowd flooded in. Hudson put back on his festival smile and held his arms up as he stepped toward the entrance. “Welcome, wine lovers!”

  “May I give my expert opinion n
ow?” said Dean as he kept his focus on Hudson.

  “Sure.”

  “I think he’s guilty.”

  “As a detective, aren’t you supposed to remain unbiased in these cases until presented with all the facts?”

  “It’s not my case. And it’s not yours, either.” Dean’s phone beeped with a text. He looked at it and his face shifted into concern.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I have to take a call. I’ll be back.” He stepped outside while Hudson laughed with the guests as he directed them to the different food booths even though police cars were only two hundred yards away and an attendee was deceased. I looked around the crowd. No one seemed to care, especially Hudson.

  His actions were getting to me. It could just be for the festival, to keep it going, but what if he really was guilty? Would he murder again?

  Dean entered the tent, an ashen look across his face.

  I had seen it before and knew it meant bad news. My heart rate accelerated and lungs tightened. “What happened? Did someone else die?”

  “No, nothing like that. I’m sorry, Katie, but I have to go.”

  twelve

  pairing suggestion: chenin blanc —stellenbosch, south africa

  Chenin Blanc, also called Steen, is South Africa’s most planted varietal.

  “There’s a potential breakthrough related to the Harper case and I have to go check it out,” said Dean.

  I tried my best to swallow my disappointment but it showed through. Our conflicting schedules left little time together and even though this weekend was supposed to be different, work was always there. “You’re driving back to San Francisco?”

  “Los Angeles.”

  The statement made my stomach drop. My father and his wife lived in Los Angeles and although he was set to retire soon from law enforcement, he was still active as far as I knew. “You’re not meeting my father, are you?”