Murder Most Fermented

by Christine E. Blum

  M

  MEATBALLS:

  Of course the wine pairing all depends on your balls! What? If they are Swedish, then Sally always insists on a silky Pinot Noir like California’s Central Coast Hess Select. If your balls are done Italian style, then you’ll need to go to a wine that is made to complement tomato sauce. Look to Tuscany and a smooth and tart Luiano Chianti Classico. Any other kinds of balls, you’re on your own.

  MIDDLE EASTERN APPS:

  If your platter is brimming with hummus, tabouli, baba ghanoush, feta cheese, and stuffed grape leaves then you’ll need to think pink. With spice you most importantly want something refreshing. Time to call in the Cava; we love the fresh exuberance of the Juve Y Camps Pinot Noir Brut Rosé.

  N

  NUTS:

  Peggy’s favorite. No Wine Club is complete without a bowl of mixed legumes (peanuts), nuts (hazelnuts, chestnuts), and drupes (almond, walnuts). She’s fond of the Ghost Pines Cabernet Sauvignon and I love the rich fruit flavor and touch of smoke.

  O

  OYSTERS:

  These briny bi-valve beauties make rare appearances at Wine Club but when the season and price is right, we’ve been known to aggressively consume them. Fists have never flown but hair pulling may have occurred. We’re also known to drain every drop of Burgundy Chablis. Our favorite is the Domaine Laroche Saint Martin made from 100 percent Chardonnay grapes.

  P

  POT STICKERS:

  If you’re not into Sake, then for heaven’s sake, open a few bottles of Pierre Sparr Gewurztraminer from Alsace, France. It is bold, fruity, and full bodied, just like Bardot.

  PROFITEROLES:

  If the occasion calls for these fudge-drizzled puffs of cream, or if it’s Tuesday, for example, lean to the Port side with something like a Terra d’Or Zinfandel Port. The lush, grapey flavors will make even the laziest chocolate stand up and do the Can-Can.

  S

  SMOKED SALMON:

  Whether served on pumpernickel squares with chopped onion and crème fraîche or wrapped around asparagus, Sally insists that the green, citrus notes of a Sancerre such as Domaine Daulny will do the trick.

  STILTON CHEESE AND WALNUT CRACKERS:

  We’re looking for deep flavor here to stand up to the cheese. Or the cheese stands alone! We like to splurge on Vintage Port but we try to keep it down to a couple of bottles. This aged nectar can get pricey. We’ve found that Portuguese wines like a Porto Cruz Vintage Port is delicious and will still keep us in shoes and socks.

  STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE:

  If you don’t already, then you’re going to think that we’ve gone over the bend with this selection. We like to enjoy this spring delectable dessert with Red Wine, specifically a Beaujolais. Served chilled!

  T

  TAPENADE:

  Transport yourself to the south of France with this tasty spread of olives, garlic, capers, lemon juice, olive oil, and, don’t tell anyone, a couple of those little fishies we call anchovies. For salty food like this you want a wine that has high acidity for balance. We like the Clos Alivu Patrimonio Rosé from Corsica.

  TRUFFLE FRIES:

  If we’re having fries we’re putting on a dress and we’re drinking champagne! And don’t get us started on the truffle oil. For a light-to-medium body and very aromatic flavors, you can’t miss with a NV Moissenet-Bonnard Cremant de Bourgone. Tough to put down.

  TUNA TARTARE:

  We’re going back to Australia for this pairing pick. Aimee is a big fan of Fowles Wine Farm to Table Pinot Noir from Victoria. Unfortunately she is not a big fan of tuna tartare so she mostly drinks.

  V

  VEGGIE PLATTER:

  If you’ve invited a warren of bunnies over for a light snack and a refreshing chaser, you can’t go wrong with a Chenin Blanc, Sally advises. She likes the California Dry Creek Vineyard Dry Chenin Blanc. “But throw some bacon on that platter,” Sally likes to add.

  W

  WATERMELON AND ARUGULA SALAD:

  Whether you add goat cheese or feta to this mixture, you’ll want something with a smooth balance of fruity acids to accompany it. Since we didn’t pay a lot for the food, we like to splurge on the Blackbird Vineyards Arriviste Rosé. Peggy calls it “summer in a bottle.”

  Acknowledgments

  I owe a debt of gratitude to the Mar Vista Historical Society and especially to Glen Howell for his insights and uncanny stories of this most special community that I call home. I also want to thank the people who make Ocean View Farms community garden such a magical place to visit, and, if you’re lucky enough, to cultivate in. Great respect also goes out to the Los Angeles Police Department Pacific Division and to Senior Lead Officer Adrian D. Acosta. You hardly batted an eye when I asked you to actually lock me in a holding cell so I could experience the isolation. Thanks also for letting me out!

  To my über agents and partners in crime stories, Sharon Belcastro and Ella Marie Shupe, cheers! Same to John Scognamiglio and all the wonderful people at Kensington Publishing. And Bardot? What have I told you about coming into the house with oil on your paws?

  Please turn the page for an

  exciting sneak peek of the next

  Rose Avenue Wine Club mystery

  THE NAME

  OF THE

  ROSÉ

  Coming soon wherever

  print and e-books are sold!

  Chapter 1

  “I hope that wasn’t a plane I heard crashing at the airport,” Sally said.

  “I heard it too as I went out to water the hibiscus,” Aimee agreed, getting teary at the thought.

  “Which I’m guessing you did in your baby doll nightie again? You’re going to give old Keith across the street a heart attack one of these days.” I laughed, knowing I was right.

  “We’d have heard something by now if it was serious,” Sally concluded. “Cheers!”

  Ah, that magic Pavlovian word. At the sound of it, we all hoisted our glasses, looked each other in the eyes, and clinked. Rose Avenue Wine Club had begun.

  We were imbibing at my house today, an unusually warm Thursday in February that demanded to be experienced alfresco around my pool. All the usual neighborhood suspects were in attendance: the aforementioned Sally, a statuesque African American woman with the long, elegant hands of a painter and the mouth, at times, of a truck driver. She is my closest Rose Avenue friend. Next up, Aimee, our budding young entrepreneur and owner of the Chill Out frozen yogurt shop. Despite her cold workplace, she is far from being sangfroid; she wears her emotions on her sleeve, jeans, hair, and just about every fiber of her being. Which is what makes her so endearing.

  Peggy is pretty much her polar opposite, widowed, in her late eighties but strong-willed and quick-witted. In another century, I’m pretty sure that if you walked past her house she’d be eying you from a porch rocking chair, clutching a shotgun resting across her knees. But she’s also the great matriarch of numerous grandbabies, so a hug from her is better than hot chocolate with marshmallows on a cold day. Or a fine Napa Cabernet. Wait, maybe I’ve gone too far.

  We were also honored to welcome Mary Ann to the fermented coterie, she’s been a longtime neighbor but a new convert to the club. This may have to do with her decision to cut back on her journalist duties at the Los Angeles Times and stop to smell the rosés.

  “I’m so used to the planes now that I only hear them if something sounds off, a sputtering engine, or complete silence after takeoff. That noise was neither, so maybe everything’s fine,” Mary Ann said as I passed around a plate of heirloom radishes lightly coated in French butter and sea salt.

  Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m Halsey, and I moved here from New York City after a divorce that should never have been a marriage. But since that was almost three years ago, I am firmly assimilated into life on Rose Avenue in this small Los Angeles beach community. I’d say that having been falsely suspected of committing two murders, being kidnapped, locked up in jail, and left stranded in a fifteen-foot-deep trench
counts in the dues paying department.

  I make my living writing code and designing websites, and when I started my company during the tech bubble, I would never have imagined that I’d be plying my trade from a suburban house on a Chinese elm-lined street with a converted garage for an office. So it goes. In addition to Wine Club, there’s a guy, there’s always a guy. Oh, don’t misunderstand me, Jack is a great one and we actually met because of the true love of my life, my yellow Lab, Bardot. But let’s just say that my prior unfortunate affaire de coeur has left me a tad commitment-phobic.

  Just to finish the picture I’m five foot eight, blond—okay, highlighted—and I am thirty-six years old. And my given name is Annie Elizabeth Hall, but for obvious reasons the moniker I answer to is Halsey, a nickname that stuck when I was very young.

  My dog is an American Field Lab; she’s smaller and much leaner than the English variety and built with a Ferrari engine. She enjoys exercise in all forms, but when she’s not saving my life, which she’s done several times, her passion is diving. Deep underwater. Like twelve feet down.

  When no one had anything further to add about a possible plane crash, we moved on to more pressing business: drinking wine and catching up on Rose Avenue news.

  “How’s Jimmy settling in?” I asked Sally. “And how are you and Joe adapting to sharing your pastoral love nest with a relative?”

  “Hah! No kin of mine is going to interfere with our horizontal hula. Thank God we put in that second story.”

  “Sally’s cousin just moved here from Chicago,” Peggy explained to Mary Ann. “He finally got some sense in him and left the freezing winters for a chilled Margarita instead. Speaking of which, who needs a refill?”

  Peggy was up and pouring the Gibbs Obsidian Block Reserve Cab that I’d selected, particularly because of its bacon and black licorice tastes. You could put bacon in an old sneaker stew and I’d ask for seconds.

  “We’ve got to get Jimmy together with Charlie. They already have the love of old planes in common,” Sally said, receiving a heavy pour from Peggy.

  “Maybe Peggy just wants to keep her new boyfriend to herself. How long has it been since you dated? Are these Castelvetrano olives?” Aimee’s food vocabulary was expanding.

  “The last man I dated was Vern and I married him when I was twenty-one. Never you mind how long ago that was.”

  “I’m guessing it was when the best way to start your car was with a whip.” That got me a punch in the arm from Peggy.

  “Charlie’s flying in today. I’ll send him your way, Sally, and you can introduce him to Jimmy.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Bardot, having been unsuccessful in drawing anyone away from their wine to play with her, had started tossing some of her sinkable toys into the pool.

  She’s got something up her furry sleeve . . .

  When you enter my backyard with the pool, you’d think that you’ve landed in the Laki Lani Resort. It is a small tropical paradise with pink bougainvillea hanging over the water, birds of paradise and all colors of hibiscus lining the perimeter. Tiki masks hang from a covered patio area courtesy of me on a day of particularly enlightened procrastination from work.

  I watched Mary Ann dial a number on her cell phone, listen, and then disconnect, shaking her head.

  “Something wrong?” Sally asked, launching into caregiver mode. (She’s a former nurse.)

  “It’s probably nothing, but my husband Jeb left the house early this morning and I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Did you try calling one of his friends from work?” Peggy was now on the case.

  “That’s the thing, he just retired. And he was a chemist, so he mostly worked alone. These days he’s always got some ‘secret project’ he’s involved in. He’s possibly been like this all along and I’m just now noticing it because I’m home more.” Mary Ann seemed to be trying to convince herself of this.

  Aimee’s cell phone came to life with a ringtone playing Pharrell’s “Happy.”

  “Hi, honey! It’s my boyfriend Tom, he’s working in the ER at St. John’s Hospital,” she stage-whispered to the group. “What? No! Oh my God, is he going to be okay?”

  That got our undivided attention.

  “Oh dear Lord, we’ll be right over.” She hung up and took a breath. “That was a plane crash you heard,” Aimee said to Sally. “And Charlie was flying it; they just brought him into the hospital! He’s awake and everything, which Tom says is a good sign,” Aimee assured Peggy.

  SPLASH!

  Bardot, having tried every trick in her playbook to get attention and failing, jumped into the pool with a belly flop that sent an airborne tsunami all over us.

  “Halsey? Police.” I heard a voice shout from the other side of the driveway gate. “We’re coming in.”

  I watched as our local area detective walked in accompanied by two uniforms.

  “Whatever it is this time, Augie, it will have to wait, we need to get to the hospital right away to be with Charlie,” I said, noticing that he was carrying a package sealed in a clear plastic evidence bag. Augie and I have a history together—I always seem to find trouble and he always attempts to pin it on me. Somehow it all gets sorted out in the end.

  “This package has a Rose Avenue address on it,” Augie announced, showing it to the group. “Whose house number is this?”

  Peggy shifted his arm to deflect the sun so we could all get a good look.

  “That’s mine,” Sally said. “What’d I get?” she asked elated.

  “Is crime so slow that you’ve taken to helping out the post office, Augie?” I couldn’t resist.

  “This package was removed from the plane that Charlie was flying when it crashed on the runway,” Augie said, ignoring my quip. I noticed that the two cops were now flanking Sally.

  Not a good sign.

  Bardot, having retrieved her last toy from the pool’s bottom, had come up for air. When she saw Augie, someone she inexplicably adores, she raced out of the pool and ran toward him. She then remembered that she needed to shake off the extra water and drenched his trousers.

  There’s going to be an extra treat in your bowl tonight, honey.

  “Somebody get me a towel,” Augie commanded. “As I was saying, this package was recovered from a large ice chest that was onboard containing frozen fish. We opened it and found that it had a number of prescription drugs inside that appear to have originated from Mexico.”

  “I didn’t order any medications from Mexico.” Sally shook her head in disbelief. “Although I can see why people do, the prices are getting ridiculous. Do you know how much my thyroid pills are? Thankfully I’m on Joe’s health plan from the university, which is excellent.”

  “I didn’t know that you had a thyroid problem; I wonder if I should get mine checked,” Aimee mused.

  “I heard that eating asparagus was good for that,” Mary Ann chimed in.

  “I WASN’T FINISHED,” Augie yelled.

  We stared at him like he’d sprouted horns. Even Bardot was taken aback and chose to watch the proceedings from a safe distance on a chaise lounge.

  “When we examined one of the fish, we discovered that heroin had been hidden inside it. A quick look at a few more fish revealed the same thing. We counted two dozen such ‘heroin packages’ total in the ice chest.”

  “What kind of fish were they?” I asked out of pure curiosity.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Augie snapped at me. “So, Sally, I have no choice but to take you in for questioning.”

  “What?” Peggy shouted.

  “We’ve all got to get to the ER. Tom says that Charlie is awake and talking. He’ll explain everything.” Aimee held up her phone to Augie to somehow indicate proof of Tom’s claim.

  “Have you already talked to Charlie?” I asked Augie.

  “No, he was in the ambulance when we arrived at the airport.”

  “Don’t you think you should?” I could see his wheels turning in his head.

 
“Alright, we’ll go to the hospital. But you need to ride in the car with us so I can keep an eye on you,” Augie said, nodding at the cops to escort Sally.

  “I knew it.” We all looked at Sally and waited for her to say what “it” was.

  “Knew what?” We asked in unison.

  “With Charlie’s accident, Jeb gone missing, and my address on this package. The curse of Rose Avenue is back!”

  “Well, that’s a relief, I was afraid it was something bad.” Everyone looked at me but no one was laughing.