Pairing a Deception

by Nadine Nettmann

  I turned down a side road and the vineyards came into sight, their organized rows providing relief to the tightness in my chest. Perhaps it was time to take a break from thinking over the events of the weekend and go over wine facts instead. With only three days until the test, this time was key. I didn’t have my phone on me to look up flash cards, but I could recite the things I knew.

  I chose the sizes of Champagne bottles and said them out loud in between breaths. “Demi, a half bottle. Standard bottle. Magnum, two bottles. Jeroboam, four bottles. Rehoboam, six bottles. Methuselah, eight bottles. Salmanazar, twelve bottles. Balthazar, sixteen bottles. Nebuchadnezzar, twenty bottles.”

  The number of cars on the road had increased. I didn’t want to get hit by distracted drivers so I turned off onto a small one-lane street, which looked like it headed in the right direction back to the hotel.

  Thick hedges lined both sides, but there was a cross street about a half mile away.

  I decided to go over the major types of Italian sparkling wines next.

  “Prosecco, Franciacorta.”

  A car turned onto the road behind me. I glanced back at it, a green sedan with dark windows, and returned my attention to my run.

  “Lambrusco.” I moved closer to the side of the road and waved the car on. “Asti Spumante.”

  It stayed behind me. A ball of uneasiness formed in my stomach and I increased my pace. There was room for the car to pass, but it was staying behind for some reason. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew I didn’t like it.

  I focused on the cross street in the distance as I tried to go over wine answers, but the roar of the engine amplified as my lungs tightened.

  Warning bells rang in my ears and I tried to glance back again. As I looked, the car lunged forward. It was trying to hit me.

  I broke into a sprint, bringing my knees as high up as I could. I knew I couldn’t outrun a car, but I had to try.

  The cross street was still too far away and the thick row of bushes kept me on the pavement. I could feel the heat of the engine on the back of my legs. I was trapped.

  My heart pounded and every muscle in my body tensed with adrenaline, but I kept running. The car continued the game, barely touching my heels as it stayed close.

  If I slowed down, I might die. If I turned again to look at the car, I might die. I needed a way out and I looked for it with every step. Up ahead, the bushes seemed to break their uniformity. It was my only chance.

  I sprinted with every last bit of energy I had, hoping that the variation in the hedge was a path and I could dive into it before the driver decided to end the game. And me.

  Five feet to go.

  The bumper touched the back of my legs.

  Two feet to go.

  I dove headfirst into the dirt between the bushes, tucking my feet up so they wouldn’t meet the tires of the car. I waited for the car to crash over me as everything faded to black.

  It didn’t come.

  The only sound was the squeal of the tires and the engine as it roared away. I scrambled up to get a look at the vehicle, but my foot caught and I fell back onto the dirt. By the time I got to the road, the green sedan was too far in the distance for me to see any distinguishing qualities or a license plate number.

  My heart pounded and my whole body shook, but I didn’t know if I had injuries, since shock could delay pain. I knew I had to get out of there in case the car came back.

  I sprinted to the cross street and down the next block before I evaluated my arms and legs.

  Scratches on my elbow and scraped knees from the dive into the dirt were the only evidence of the interaction. If the person had wanted to hit me, they would have.

  This wasn’t an attempted murder; this was a warning. Someone thought I knew something.

  The question was who.

  twenty

  pairing suggestion: chardonnay —santa barbara, california

  Aided by the fog, this region creates excellent wines with balance and acidity.

  I made it back to the Lancaster without further incident. After I showered and put Band-Aids on my cuts, I filed a police report on the car. It didn’t help that I didn’t have a description other than a dark green sedan, but at least it was something.

  I was tempted to text Dean about it, but I didn’t want to worry him, especially when he was working and couldn’t be with me. I was okay and I was going to continue with the festival, though my guard would be up.

  The Chardonnay panel was about to start as I hurried across the lawn. I always enjoyed the stark difference between California Chardonnay and those from France, such as Chablis, and the seminar was described as having both.

  I walked into the ballroom. Walt and Ben were in the fifth row with empty seats nearby. I wondered if either of them owned a green vehicle and since I was in a crowd of people, I decided it was safe to find out.

  “How’s your morning so far?” I sat down next to them. I wanted to ask if either of them had been for a drive, but I figured that would give too much away, so I stared at the six glasses of Chardonnay in front of me while I waited for a response.

  “Someone’s a little late,” said Walt.

  I glanced at my watch. “Actually, it doesn’t start for four minutes. Some may say I’m not only on time, I’m early.”

  “Didn’t mean you,” replied Walt. He pointed to the front of the room where the three panelists waited on the stage. The space for the moderator was empty.

  “Maybe Hudson drank too much last night,” said Ben as he shrugged. “It happens.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he overslept,” said Walt.

  “Why should he get to oversleep? I didn’t get to oversleep,” replied Ben.

  “Something isn’t right,” I said without meaning to say it out loud.

  “Yes, we’re missing the man of the hour,” replied Walt.

  The other panelists were starting to look around, but I stared at the open space on the panel wondering if Hudson drove a dark green car. Why would he want to run me off the road?

  “They might ask you to step in again,” said Walt as he picked up a glass. “Are you ready to dazzle us with your knowledge?”

  “I can read through this wine,” said Ben as he held a glass of Chardonnay to the side.

  Two festival officials on the far side of the room whispered to each other with their hands blocking their faces.

  The taller one headed up to the podium. “We’re going to start. Unfortunately, Hudson Wiley seems to be bit tardy, but we’ll proceed and perhaps he’ll join us later.” He glanced at the panelists. “Michael, why don’t you lead us for this one?”

  The man sitting next to the empty seat looked surprised and then composed himself. “Okay, um, that’s fine.” He pulled the microphone in front of him closer. “Let’s start with the first one, which happens to be mine. Um, my winery is located in Santa Rita Hills and we ferment in stainless steel. We strive to create bold yet unoaked Chardonnay.”

  I knew I couldn’t sit there. What if Hudson was driving the car? Was he guilty and thought I was getting too close?

  “I have to take a call,” I whispered to Walt and Ben.

  “I’m stealing your wine then,” said Ben as he moved one of my glasses closer to his.

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and held it to my ear as I shuffled along the row and down the aisle, pretending I was on an important call.

  I slipped outside the ballroom, making sure the door closed gently behind me. I didn’t want to disturb the seminar more by a slamming door.

  The hallway was empty except for a few stragglers heading to another ballroom, but I didn’t want to know about the seminars. I wanted to know about the car. Specifically, Hudson’s car.

  I left the hotel and crossed the grass to the Lancaster valet stand.

  “Name and room
number,” said the attendant, his focus on the computer.

  “Actually, I’m not getting my car. I have a question.” But I stopped. I was about to ask about Hudson’s car, but maybe there was a different way to go. “I just want to make sure my car is still here.”

  The attendant narrowed his eyes. “Why would your car not be here?”

  “Well, it’s not mine, it’s a friend’s.” The lie didn’t taste good as it came out of my mouth.

  “I don’t think I should get involved,” said the attendant.

  “Listen,” I said as I stood in front of him. “You probably shouldn’t. But all I need to know is if a certain someone’s car is still here.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be checking on your boyfriend’s car.”

  “And maybe he’s not my boyfriend and I just need to find out what car he drives.” I put a five-dollar bill on the stand.

  The attendant, probably still in college, hesitated for a moment and then took the money.

  “Hudson Wiley, room two-oh-three. Wait, no, he changed rooms.” The hotel had relocated him after Jocelyn’s murder because the nearby hallway was still a crime scene. I didn’t know his new room number.

  “I don’t think I’m breaking any rules by telling you Hudson Wiley drives a bright-red Porsche,” said the attendant. “It’s a pretty cool car and hard to miss. However, I’m not sure I can tell you if it’s still here.”

  “No, that’s fine,” I replied as a mixed wave of relief and remaining questions went through me. “You’ve already told me all I needed to know.” At least now I knew it wasn’t Hudson who tried to hit me.

  “Good luck with your, um, relationship with Mr. Wiley,” said the attendant.

  “Yeah, not my boyfriend.”

  “Got it.”

  I stepped away from the attendant and paused as I glanced through the window to the Lancaster Hotel’s front desk. It was worth it to cover one more base before I left.

  A woman in her twenties was behind the front desk, her black hair pulled back in a French twist. “Good morning,” she said. “What can I help you with?”

  “Morning. I’m looking for Hudson Wiley. He’s a guest here. About six-one with a lot of hair.”

  “Yes, I know Mr. Wiley.” She smiled.

  “Great. Do you happen to know where he is?”

  “He walked through the lobby about an hour ago, on his way to the festival at the New Sierra, I believe.”

  “So he left here and walked over?”

  She tilted her head. “Yes, there would be no reason to drive over to the New Sierra. Is there an issue?”

  “No, not at all. I was just looking for him. He was late to a seminar. He’s probably already there.”

  She nodded and returned her focus to the computer.

  I walked back to the New Sierra Hotel. The lobby and conference area were calm, with only a few attendees milling about and no officials running around, trying to solve an issue. Maybe Hudson really was back. Maybe he had been waylaid by a meeting or lost time chatting to an attendee and was now leading the seminar. Everything was probably fine.

  I cracked open the door to the Chardonnay seminar. There was an empty seat in the last row, which I could take without making a disturbance. I crept in and sat down before looking at the panel.

  Hudson was still missing.

  twenty-one

  pairing suggestion: zweigelt—kremstal, austria

  A light red wine with low tannins and notes of cherry and cinnamon.

  I stayed the rest of the seminar, as I didn’t want to cause another disruption by leaving it twice. Although it was educational and I tried to concentrate on the different types of Chardonnay that ranged from buttery California ones to unoaked French examples with more acidity, my mind was preoccupied by Hudson’s absence.

  When the seminar ended, I moved out of my row, meeting Walt in the aisle.

  “Glad to see you made it back,” he said. “Ben here drank all your wine.”

  “Did not,” said Ben as he put his chin up. “Only some of it.”

  I smiled in response, but my eyes were already scanning the exit for Hudson. I made my way outside the ballroom, where the attendees milled around like nothing was wrong. And perhaps nothing was, but Hudson had been upset that he missed the Pinot seminar when he was questioned. To miss two seminars in one weekend wasn’t just out of character, it was suspicious. Maybe he had been called back in for questioning.

  I kept my eyes on the crowd instead of looking at the booklet for the lunch location. Every face walking past was unfamiliar. Until one wasn’t.

  It was Dean.

  His smile was huge, but he breathed heavily as if he’d run all the way from Los Angeles. “I made it,” he said, his eyes glistening. “I didn’t think I would, but I got here in time.”

  I grinned. “Does that mean you sped here? Do I need to write you a ticket?”

  “Not today. I obeyed the speed limit. Did you get my texts?” His smile increased.

  I reached for my phone. “Sorry, I didn’t even look.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m used to you not having your phone, though you actually do have it.”

  “I’m still not used to checking it,” I replied, even though I had taken it out during the seminar as the ruse to leave. I never liked carrying my phone around and being accessible at all times, but an incident earlier in the year had prompted me to bring it more often.

  “It was just to let you know that I was on my way.” Dean glanced at his watch. “But we need to start walking to make it in time.”

  “In time for what?”

  “Your surprise. Did you forget?”

  “No.” But I did forget. With everything going on, the surprise had been the furthest thing from my mind. “I’m excited.”

  “Great, let’s go.”

  We walked past the ballrooms, but I continued to scan the crowds for Hudson.

  “Everything okay?” asked Dean.

  “Of course. Just curious.” I didn’t want to tell him that Hudson was missing and a car had tried to run me down. Or that the murder victim might have been using a stolen name and festival pass. At least not yet. He was too excited about the surprise and I didn’t have the heart to dampen his smile right then. “So where exactly are we going? You mentioned it was wine related, so …” I motioned to the festival. “Is it a special meeting with one of the chefs? Or a winemaker?”

  “Nope.” He looked at his watch again. “In fact, we need to walk a little faster.”

  “Is it at the other hotel?”

  “Not quite.” Dean held open the front entrance to the New Sierra.

  I stepped out and noticed his car near valet. “It’s a drive?” I looked at him. “What are you up to, Dean?”

  “You’re about to find out. Valet has my keys, I’ll be right back.”

  I smiled as he walked away but noticed Isabella to the side.

  “Isabella?” I said gently.

  She jumped as she turned to look at me. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to hear my name.”

  “You okay?”

  “Oh yes. Just waiting for my car.” She smiled, but it was a weak one. “I thought I might get some food in town.”

  “But you’re continuing with the festival, right?”

  “Yes, I’m coming back later.” She still looked a little timid. “You were right. It’s fun. I’m glad I stayed.”

  “I’m glad, too. Hey, by the way, have you seen Hudson?”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Who’s that?”

  “The Master Sommelier who’s the master of ceremonies this weekend. He’s pretty tall and wears a bright red pin.”

  “The hair guy,” she replied.

  “Sure,” I said as I stifled a laugh. “The hair guy. Have you seen him today?”

  “No, why?” She
put her hand to her mouth. “What’s going on?” She looked like she was on the brink of tears again and there wasn’t any whiskey to help this time.

  “I’m sure he’s fine, I just missed him earlier.” Though even as I said it, I didn’t believe it was true.

  Isabella stared at me.

  “Katie, you ready?” said Dean as he stood at the open door to his car.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” I said again to Isabella. “Enjoy your lunch and when you get back, he’ll be at the festival.”

  She glanced around with jerky movements, as if she couldn’t take in what was happening. I didn’t know if she should be driving in that condition, but it might be her permanent disposition.

  “A new friend of yours?” asked Dean as I got into the car.

  “She’s the one you scared on the lawn the other night.”

  “Ah, yes. Is she okay?”

  “I think so. I’ll fill you in a little later. Let’s enjoy the day first.”

  “Looks like I’m not the only one with surprises.” He smiled.

  “Something like that. So,” I said, wanting to focus on my time with Dean, “do I get to know where we’re going now?”

  “You’ll know soon enough,” he said as he drove out of the hotel. “But I guarantee it will be an adventure.”

  An adventure just like a missing Master Sommelier and almost being run over that morning?

  “Can’t wait,” I replied.

  twenty-two

  pairing suggestion: moscato d’asti—piedmont, italy

  A lighthearted, sweet, and slightly sparkling wine.

  We drove through Solvang, a Danish village known for its architecture, Christmas stores, and a windmill in the middle of the town.

  “Are we stopping in Solvang?”

  “No,” said Dean. “But maybe we’ll come back for lunch.”

  He continued driving and I stared out at the golden hills of Santa Barbara County. Oak trees dotted the slopes but no vineyards. At least not yet.