We reached the freeway.
“You’re not driving me back to San Francisco, are you? Or down to L.A.? I mean, I know you just went there, but I’m not ready to go.”
Dean smiled as he passed the entrance to Highway 101. “This is a good surprise, I promise. Nothing to do with your father.”
“Did you see him down there?”
“No. I would tell you if I had.”
I knew Dean had met him once, but that was way before he met me and knew the history and tension between us. “And the Harper case? Did you get what you needed?”
“Somewhat. I might have to go to L.A. again on Monday, but at least I’m able to join you today. It’s important for me to do this for you.”
“For me?” I stared at him, hoping for a clue. “Does it involve a winery? Or a wine shop? A vineyard?”
He laughed. “I can hear the anticipation in your voice. You’re not one for surprises, are you?”
“I’m used to logic and planning. I would think you would be, too, Detective.”
“A few more minutes. Patience.”
“You know that’s not my strong point.” I returned my gaze out the window. There were vineyards along the road now, their organized lines instilling calmness within me. I took a deep breath, the scenery already soothing out the events of the morning. The vines were full of grapes, soon to become wine and perhaps even served in Trentino one day. We had several wines from Santa Barbara on the wine list.
The car slowed at a driveway next to a colorful sign with the name Bartlett.
“We’re going to Bartlett?”
“You know it?”
“Yes, it’s on our wine list,” I replied as my mind went into its factual mode that I used at the restaurant. “Bartlett is known for their Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, Pinot Noir, and Merlot. It was founded in 1970 by William Bartlett Junior but he sold it in the 1990s.” I hoped my memory would be this sharp at Tuesday’s exam.
“I’m impressed,” said Dean. “As I mentioned on Thursday, the owner is a family friend from a long time ago. When I found out we were coming to the festival, I made a few calls.”
“Are we doing a tasting?”
“You’ll see,” said Dean.
“You’re so mysterious today. It’s kinda fun.”
We drove toward a gray single-story building that seemed to sink into the ground and a wood barn next to it. As we got closer, the top of two staircases appeared as they spiraled into a sunken courtyard below the front of the building. A Chocolate Labrador ran out of the barn as we parked.
“That’s Caleb,” said Dean. “He has a big bark but he’s a sweetheart.” I stayed in the car as Dean approached the dog. “Hi, Caleb. It’s me.”
The Lab continued to guard the barn, barking furiously. Not that I wasn’t a fan of dogs, but an unknown dog defensively showing its teeth? No thanks.
“I know it’s been a long time, but you’ve met me before.” Dean put out his hand and let Caleb sniff it. The barking stopped and the wagging started. “Good to see you, Caleb. I’m glad you remember me.”
I opened the car door. Dust and dry earth permeated the air, but there was still the aroma of fermenting grapes.
An older man with a straw hat, white shirt, and jeans appeared from the steps of the sunken building. “Johnny Dean, I figured that was you since Caleb stopped barking. I’m glad you made it in time. I almost gave up on you guys.”
“Sorry, work got in the way. Are we too late?”
“You just caught me, so we’re all good.”
“Thanks, Frank.” Dean shook his hand. “It’s great to see you again. I know it’s been a while.”
“You should visit more often. I told your mom she should come see me, too.”
“She will.” Dean motioned to me. “Frank, this is Katie.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” He was in his late sixties and his gray hair stuck out in tufts beneath his hat. “I hear it’s a special occasion for you,” he said as I shook his weathered hand.
I looked at Dean and back at Frank. “I don’t even know what we’re doing yet.”
“Ah, he didn’t tell you.” He waved toward the barn. “Come around to the back. Let’s get you started.”
Dean took my hand and we followed Frank to a covered gray plastic tub, approximately five feet by five feet.
“There you go!” said Frank.
“I’m still not following.”
He lifted the cover to reveal mounds of green grapes that filled the tub.
I wasn’t sure how to process the sight.
“Haven’t you seen grapes before?” Frank laughed and his whole body convulsed. “Kidding. This is what Johnny said you wanted.”
“Grape stomping,” said Dean as he put his arm around me. “When I knew we were coming to Santa Barbara, I called Frank and told him I had a special person in my life who had wanted to stomp grapes ever since she saw that episode of I Love Lucy. He managed to pull a few strings and set this up for us.”
I stared into Dean’s blue eyes as my whole body filled with emotion. I told him about my wish to go grape stomping when we were at Garrett Winery last fall, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t mentioned it since. “You remembered,” I managed to say, my voice soft and halting.
“Of course.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say a thing,” said Frank. “Get in the tub and start stomping.” He sat down on another crate in the shadow of the barn, Caleb faithfully at his feet.
I slipped off my boots and rolled my black pants up, the cuffs stopping slightly below my scraped knees.
Dean did the same with his jeans and held out his hand. “Ready?”
“Definitely.” I held his arm as I stepped into the tub, the cold grapes crushing under my feet with my first step. “One just popped between my toes!”
Dean climbed in next to me. “It’s cold.”
“Start stomping, you kids,” yelled Frank from the side. “Those grapes aren’t going to squash themselves!”
I lifted up my knees as juice, seeds, and skins lodged between my toes with every step. The feeling was unlike anything I had ever felt before. Grapes continued to pop under my feet and I couldn’t stop laughing.
I glanced at Dean. He had a huge smile on his face as he watched me while he stomped but with a quarter of the effort.
“You’re pretty good at this,” shouted Frank. “Sure you haven’t done this before?”
“Never,” I replied. “But you aren’t going to use these grapes for your wine, are you?”
“Sure, we love the essence of feet,” said Frank, followed by a hearty laugh. “Nah, these aren’t even my grapes. They’re from a vineyard up the road. Didn’t ripen properly. They look ripe on the outside, but they’re still young on the inside. Can’t make wine out of ’em, so why not squash ’em for fun!”
I stomped harder, juice squirting up my legs, spraying juice and skins everywhere. Soon the entire tub had turned into a mass of liquid that hid our ankles and feet.
“I think they’re all done,” I said as I moved through the pulpy liquid. “I can’t find any more grapes.” I looked up at Dean and laughed. “How did seeds get on your face?”
“Someone, and I won’t say who, was very energetic in their stomping,” said Dean. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.”
“I haven’t had this much fun in a long time.” I stepped forward. “Wait, I think I found another grape to squash.” I moved my foot around. “Shoot, it floated away.”
“Looks like soup to me,” said Frank. “But don’t let me stop ya. You’re welcome to stay in there as long as you want.”
I splashed around a little bit more and then stopped. “Okay.” I could barely speak, my cheeks aching from the smiling. “I think I
got all of them.”
“So you’re good? All done?” asked Dean.
I nodded as I stepped around one last time to make sure there weren’t any remaining grapes.
“There’s a mat on the side of the tub—unless you want juice mixed with dirt, then by all means, go onto the dirt,” said Frank.
I stepped onto the faded blue mat and made room for Dean.
Frank turned on a hose. “Let me wash that stuff off. It gets sticky real fast.” Grape skins flew to the ground as he sprayed down our feet. When all remnants were gone, he shut off the hose and tossed me a towel.
“Thanks.” I wiped off my feet and gave the towel to Dean. I rolled down the cuffs of my pants back to my ankles. Dean’s pants had survived the experience without noticeable grape residue, but a thick layer of juice had soaked into mine.
“Thanks, Frank,” said Dean. “Can we help you clean up?”
“Not a chance.” He pulled the cover on the tub. “I gotta run, so I’ll take care of this tomorrow. You guys go have fun.”
“Thank you so much,” I said to Frank. “This was perfect. Truly perfect.”
“It was all because of that guy right there.” Frank pointed at Dean.
“Thank you, Johnny.” I winked.
“Ah, Dean is fine.” He beamed. “Was it a good surprise?”
“The best. I don’t think anyone has ever done something so special for me.”
Dean leaned forward and pulled a squashed grape out of my hair. “I’m not sure how this got up here, but it did.” He was only a few inches away from me and his blue eyes glistened in the midday sun.
“Thank you, Dean.”
His gaze focused to an intense and deep stare into my eyes.
My heart rate climbed.
He leaned closer and touched my cheek with his hand.
We both waited, neither one moving, as our surroundings faded away and we reduced the remaining gap. My eyes closed instinctively as his warm lips met mine. The world was silent and the moment was just for us until I heard Frank and Caleb stir nearby.
I opened my eyes and stepped back.
Dean had a strange smile on his face as if he was both happy and embarrassed. He took my hand. “Let’s get lunch before we head back to the festival. You can tell me all about the panels that I missed.”
“Ah, yes. I actually have a lot to fill you in on.”
twenty-three
pairing suggestion: riesling—finger lakes, new york
The lakes cool the vineyards in summer and protect them from harsh winters.
We chose a restaurant not far from the hotel and were seated at a window table.
“We should have a glass of wine,” said Dean as he looked over the lunch menu.
“It’s midday. Who are you?” I smiled, but I’d never known Dean to drink in the middle of the day, even if it was a weekend.
He shrugged. “It makes sense after the grape stomp.”
“I’m glad you weren’t keen on drinking the grapes we squashed.”
“Do people do that?”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t say it’s recommended.” I glanced at the menu for the wines, but they weren’t listed.
“What’s everyone thinking for drinks?” asked the waiter as he arrived.
I wanted to reply that I was thinking about the location of the wine list, but I decided to be more tactful. “We’d like to order wine. Which ones do you have?”
“Oh, we have all the colors,” the waiter remarked.
I paused, not sure how to respond.
“I think she’d still like a wine list,” added Dean.
“Of course.” His smile was close-lipped and he walked away.
“Thank you,” I whispered to Dean. “That just kind of shocked me.”
“Not a problem. Maybe he’s new?”
“Maybe.”
The waiter returned a moment later with the wine list and placed it in front of Dean. I took a deep breath and kept my mouth shut. I decided not to treat it as an insult, but as an oversight from the waiter.
Dean handed it to me. “Why don’t you choose a wine for both of us?”
I ordered a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for Dean and a Viognier for myself. The waiter took the menu and retreated.
“So tell me,” said Dean. “What did I miss?”
“Right.” I took a deep breath. “First off, I’m fine, but I had a little incident with a car this morning. I went for a run and one nearly hit me.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was, but don’t worry, I filed a police report.”
Dean’s face was ashen. “Was it on purpose? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“You were so excited for the surprise. I didn’t want to ruin it. I knew it could wait until now and I’m okay. In fact, I’m great. I just stomped grapes.”
Dean slowly nodded, but I could tell he was still processing the information.
I leaned forward. “I’m fine. I would tell you if I wasn’t. Okay, next up,” I said to change the conversation. “I met Jocie Rivers.”
“Yes, in the bar on Thursday night. I was with you.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “Did you hit your head during the car incident?”
“No, I didn’t, and I’m not talking about that Jocelyn Rivers. I met the real Jocie Rivers. She’s in her sixties and is at the festival with some friends. She goes by Jocie, which is short for Jocelyn. She lost her badge just minutes after she got there on Thursday.”
Dean stared at me, his expression transformed into disbelief. “Jocie Rivers. Jocelyn Rivers.”
I nodded. “And I don’t believe in a coincidence that two people with the same name are at the festival.”
“If she’s Jocelyn Rivers,” continued Dean, “who did we have drinks with? Who was murdered?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you tell the police?”
I swallowed hard. “No. What if I’m wrong? Besides, you told me not to get involved.”
“And you listened?”
I shrugged. “For the most part. I might have tried to find out who she really was.”
“Did you?”
“Not yet.”
The waiter arrived with the two glasses of white wine except mine had a straw. It bobbed in my glass of Viognier and I tried to decide if the idea of drinking something as elegant and revered as wine out of straw was worse than knowing the plastic was possibly imparting synthetic flavors.
“Um,” I finally said as I stared at the glass in front of me.
“Ah,” replied the waiter. “One moment.” He pulled out the straw and tapped it on the side to shake loose any remaining wine before tucking it behind his back. “Sorry about that. It was so I could tell them apart. You don’t want to drink your wine through a straw.”
“No, I really don’t,” I replied.
“We’ll need a few more minutes on the food,” said Dean.
“I’ll be back to take your orders.” He smiled and walked away as I continued to comprehend the idea of a straw in my wine.
“Well, that was a first,” I said.
“I bet you’d never do that at Trentino,” remarked Dean.
“Not a chance. I’d never do that anywhere.”
Dean held up his glass. “Here’s to grape-stomping adventures with my favorite partner in crime.”
“Or favorite partner in fighting crime?”
“You make us sound like superheroes.”
I shrugged. “Well, if it works.” We clinked the glasses. “Cheers.”
I watched as Dean tried the local Sauvignon Blanc I ordered for him. “Do you like it?”
He nodded. “I almost get lemon in there. Is that correct?”
“Yes! Want to try one more?” I reached for his glass. “May I?”
; “Of course.”
I took a sip. “Okay, see if you can also find the peach in there, specifically white peach.”
Dean tasted it again. “Definitely.”
“Really?”
“No, not yet.” He looked at the wine. “But I’ll keep trying.”
I grinned at him. “You’ll be blind tasting in no time.”
“Thanks, but I’ll leave that up to you. Your skills are impressive.” Dean smiled. “How has the studying been this weekend?”
“Not as much as I planned. With everything that’s been happening, I was a little distracted, but I’ll find some time.”
Dean nodded. “Is Hudson still acting suspicious?”
“Well, that’s another thing,” I said as I took a deep breath. “He’s kind of missing.”
“Katie, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” I flipped my fork over and over on the placemat as my lungs tightened. “All I know is that Hudson wasn’t at the seminar this morning. He was supposed to host it and he was a no-show.”
“It’s possible he skipped town. Did you fill in for him?”
“No, one of the other panelists did. I made sure his car was still there, which it was, and the front desk at the Lancaster said they’d seen him in the lobby an hour before. Maybe the police were questioning him again?”
“That’s an easy thing to find out.” Dean stared at me. “I wonder if he knew Jocelyn wasn’t who she said she was.”
“He didn’t seem to when I asked him about it, but he did mention that Jocelyn was at the festival with someone and then he said the word Tama.”
“Tama?”
“Yes, and last night Walt and Ben were drinking a bottle from Tama Winery. They wouldn’t tell me where they got it, but I have a feeling it’s the key to everything.”
“When we get back, you’ll figure it out.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“I’m starting to know you better than you think. You can’t resist a mystery.”
“Does that bother you?”
Dean smiled. “No. I’m just glad I’m back up here with you.”
“I am, too.”
“Are we ready to order now?” asked the waiter.
Pairing a Deception Page 12
