Not really. But meeting staff and exchanging pleasantries was the duty of Max’s wife. Her duties, now, and as an officer of the US Army, she understood the importance of showing unity to the troops.
Arthur escorted them to the bar. “Our outdoor manager, Claude McKeith.”
CLAUDE MCKEITH:
MALE, NORTHERN EUROPEAN ANCESTRY, 50S, 6'4", 200 LBS, BLOND, SMILING, JAW CLENCHED, BLINDING WHITE TEETH. IMMACULATELY DRESSED. THRILLED AND NERVOUS.
Claude explained that many customers came out of the tasting room wanting another glass of wine and refreshments. He served simple and locally sourced platters of cheese, meat and fruit, and offered samples to Kellen and Max.
Max snacked and asked the daily monetary take.
Claude replied with an amount that raised Max’s eyebrows.
Arthur beamed. “I expect this to be a highly profitable and popular addition to the winery.”
“I wish I’d thought of it,” Max said.
“I’m sure you would have, sir, given time.”
Kellen wasn’t so sure. Max seemed rather set in his ways, and his shaken response to the change made her smile.
He glanced at her. “Oh, shut up.”
She faked a solemn face.
He kissed her hand.
Arthur observed with interest. “The sojourn in the mountains seem to have refreshed you both.”
“It does seem that way.” Max didn’t release her hand.
Arthur gestured at the young woman peeking around the corner of the winery building.
She scurried forward and bowed.
“Let me introduce our new chef, Pearly Perry.”
PEARLY PERRY:
FEMALE, ASIAN (TIBETAN?) ANCESTRY, 5', 100 LBS, 40 YO. STRAIGHT BLACK HAIR KNOTTED INTO A SEVERE BACKSWEEP. BROWN EYES. SKIN RIPPLES WITH BURN MARK FROM LEFT FOREHEAD TO LEFT CHIN; LOOKS LIKE MARKS FROM FLAMETHROWER, PROBABLY A KITCHEN ACCIDENT. FLUENT IN FOUR LANGUAGES. IMMACULATELY DRESSED. THRILLED AND NERVOUS.
“What happened to our old chef?” Max asked.
“One Foot in the Grape Winery stole him.” Arthur viewed Pearly with obvious respect and delight. “Not to worry, sir. Pearly has experience in a number of international cuisines as well as European foods—German, French, Italian and the typical foods to accompany the wines.”
“That seems overkill to have a chef who prepares cheese and charcuterie plates,” Max said.
“She’s proven herself able to adjust at a moment’s notice to please our Japanese, Malaysian and Thai visitors. Of whom we have many. The tour buses come in, the biking clubs arrive...” Arthur sounded quite sure of himself.
Max nodded as if dazed.
“Also, sir, you have the guest suites and the small kitchen you use to prepare their breakfasts. I think it not inappropriate to imagine a future with an expansion to include a small distinguished restaurant and a use of the elevated patio as a dining area for weddings, anniversaries, birthdays, special occasions.”
Kellen turned to Pearly. “I’ve seen reality television and those cooking shows. It seems difficult. Do you really want to be a chef in charge of a restaurant?”
Pearly looked down, veiling her eyes and her expression. “I have worked hard these last twenty years to find the peace within myself to embrace the confines of the kitchen and seek satisfaction in the small chores that enhance lives. I know how to create marvelous cuisine and I know how to direct a staff.” She looked up, and her smile transformed her scarred face. “If I were to become a famous chef, called from my kitchen to the applause of my customers, I would not object.”
Kellen nodded, waggling her head. “Okay.” Being in charge of a kitchen didn’t sound like fun to her, but Pearly clearly knew what she wanted.
Max and Arthur had walked on, and she hurried to catch up with them.
“Our waiters,” Arthur said. “These two gentlemen, while serving wines and eatable accompaniments, have doubled the size of the Di Luca Willamette Valley Wine Club.”
MATEO COURTEMANCHE:
MALE, SPANISH/FRENCH ANCESTRY (BASQUE?), LATE 30S. BROWN HAIR, BROWN EYES, SMOOTH BROWN SKIN. FLUENT IN THREE LANGUAGES. IMMACULATELY DRESSED. THRILLED AND NERVOUS.
TAKASHI TIBODO:
MALE, AFRICAN AND JAPANESE? KOREAN? VIETNAMESE ANCESTRY?, 50 YO, 6'2", 160 LBS. CURLY BLACK HAIR, LARGE BROWN EYES, LASHES AND MOUTH AND... HANDSOME MAN. FABULOUSLY HANDSOME MAN. FLUENT IN SEVEN LANGUAGES AND CAN STRUGGLE ALONG IN THREE MORE.
“Good Lord.” Max shook the two men’s hands. “That’s extraordinary. About the wine club, I mean. How do you do it?”
“The wines speak for themselves, sir,” Mateo said. “And when Takashi sings, he summons the money from their wallets.”
Takashi smiled modestly.
“Takashi, you sing?” As handsome as he was, that seemed almost too many gifts to Kellen.
“Yes, Miss Adams. I was trained by one of the greatest teachers of all time, Maestro Emil Kinsie. He taught me everything, and I dedicate myself to preserving his heritage.” Takashi glanced toward Arthur, straightened, then focused on Kellen once more. “I listened to his music online.”
“Someday I would enjoy hearing you sing,” she said.
He inclined his head. “I would love to sing for such a gracious lady.”
At some unseen signal from Arthur, the two waiters removed themselves and returned to work.
ARTHUR WALDBERG:
EXTREMELY ORGANIZED. A MANIPULATOR OF HIGHEST SKILL, DIRECTOR OF A STAFF THAT DOES HIS BIDDING WITHOUT QUESTION.
Max viewed the whole operation and said mildly, “Your new employees seem well accomplished and I’ll be interested to sit down with them and discuss the possibility of permanent employment.”
“They would love that, sir.”
“I did notice it’s skewed toward the male gender.”
Arthur hung his head. “Yes, sir, I’m sorry. I wanted to start out with people I knew without a doubt would be knowledgeable and reliable, and those people are mostly male. I was lucky with Pearly—she was free at exactly the right time and came at once. I’ll do better in the future.”
“Where are they all from?” More than once, Kellen had seen a band of compatriots like Arthur and his people. She had been a part of a band like this, in the Army, honed and gathered by battle. She recognized that somehow, under some heat and pressure, these people had been formed into a cohesive unit. They supported each other. They depended on each other. They had the same goals, and the same leader—Arthur Waldberg.
How interesting.
Arthur folded his hands at his waist. “When I hire them, I’m not allowed to ask that kind of personal question.”
“But where did you find them?” Max asked. “The competition for good winery help is fierce, and in less than a week you’ve stocked the place with accomplished workers. Do you personally know these people?”
Arthur met his eyes. “I do. They’re from all around the world. We’re fortunate to have so many languages to tap into. The Japanese and European tour buses have already made us the top preferred stop in the Willamette Valley.”
Kellen thought Arthur hadn’t quite answered the question.
Like her, Max seemed a little uncertain, and he watched Arthur closely. “That’s wonderful.”
Arthur hesitated, then added, “Sir, I have connections in places you might not know.”
“Should I be worried?” Max sounded casual. He wasn’t.
Arthur met his gaze straight on. “No, sir. My people will be an asset to Di Luca Wines, I promise you that.”
44
“Then let’s meet the rest of your new hires,” Max said.
“Of course.” Arthur pulled his elaborately folded handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed his damp brow, refolded it and put it back into his pocket. “But before we do, sir, I must tell you—I had
to fire an employee, one Rita Grapplee. She was caught on video helping herself to the contents of the gift shop, and when she was discovered selling those pieces to the guests, her excuse was that she wasn’t paid enough to maintain her desired lifestyle. She seemed quite convinced that was adequate reason to pilfer.”
Max sighed and looked at the ground. “Will we have a lawsuit?”
“We perhaps would have, but she hasn’t reported to her parole officer. She’s effectively disappeared, one supposes onto the streets. Sir, while I respect your desire to help a person in rehab, Miss Grapplee had drug paraphernalia strewn throughout her apartment.” Arthur’s accent was crisp and disdainful. “The police are investigating.”
“That explains a lot.” Kellen remembered Rita’s behavior on the day Horst had picked her up from the winery. “She was so...” So out there, so bold, so sure she could do anything without repercussions. She had asked too many question, taken photos of the van. Now, here, after the trip to the mountains, Kellen suspected Rita Grapplee had been on someone’s payroll, paid to watch and report Kellen’s every movement. She should have seen it before—but before, she hadn’t suspected she was being hunted. “Let me know if she turns up,” Kellen told Arthur. “I’d like to talk to her.”
“Of course, Miss Adams.” Arthur led them toward the piano, and as he did, he said, “Let me introduce you to our newest outdoor arrival, our pianist and a talented musician, Dan Matyasovitch.”
DAN MATYASOVITCH:
MALE, CAUCASIAN ANCESTRY, 60 YO, 5'10", 175 LBS. THICK DARK GLASSES (VISUALLY IMPAIRED?), ECCENTRIC FACIAL HAIR. ACCENT: HOLLYWOOD AMERICAN. DARK JEANS, WHITE T-SHIRT, UNLINED BLACK SILK JACKET, WHITE ATHLETIC SHOES, NO SOCKS. PLAYS WITHOUT SHEET MUSIC. TAKES REQUESTS. THRILLED AND NERVOUS.
Max listened for a moment, then asked, “How did a man of your obvious talents come to play at my family’s winery?”
“I started out in New York City, acting on Broadway, then in the orchestra pit. Lately I’ve worked in the jazz clubs, but staying up all night—that’s a young man’s game.” Dan’s fingers continued to play softly as he spoke to them, as if he didn’t even need to think about the music to know “My Favorite Things.” “I came west on a mission, and I’m happy to have found this position.”
“He applied to work in the serving room, and he’s got the chops to do it, but I’d already filled those positions. When he heard Warren talking about the improvements he wanted to make to brighten the winery, he suggested a pianist and offered to play for us.”
“We didn’t have a piano in the winery,” Max pointed out.
“Mrs. Di Luca offered to let me audition on her piano.” Dan moved effortlessly from “My Favorite Things” to “Strangers in the Night.”
“My mother let you use her piano?” Max was clearly dumbstruck. “This is her piano?”
“Mrs. Di Luca has been incredibly supportive about all we’ve accomplished,” Arthur said. “If you would come this way, Mr. Di Luca, we can look inside the tasting room.”
“First, I’d like to discuss security,” Max said. “With so many new guests and employees, that is a concern.”
“Indeed it is, sir, and I’ve hired Parliman Security to handle everything.” Arthur was the most efficient anticipatory employee Kellen had ever seen. “Would you like to meet Mr. Parliman first?”
“Is that him?” Kellen indicated a man standing at the fringe of the action.
“Yes, how did you know?” Arthur asked.
MR. PARLIMAN:
MALE. EAST INDIAN ANCESTRY. MIDDLE-AGED. DELIBERATELY NONDESCRIPT IN DRESS AND GROOMING. WATCHFUL.
“I’ve met men like him before, in Afghanistan, officers and enlisted men who use their eyes and their minds to stave off disaster.”
“There you have it.” Max put his hand on her hip and let it rest there. “How big is Mr. Parliman’s firm?”
Arthur looked pleased. “We’ll talk to him.”
“I’ll stay here,” Kellen said.
“You don’t want to meet him?” Max asked.
She looked at Parliman again. He had zeroed in on a guest who had overindulged and had sent one of his men to offer free bottles of water and a complimentary plate of cheese and vegetables. “No. I trust Arthur’s judgment, and yours.”
Max laughed. “And your own.”
“In this case,” she agreed.
Max walked off with Arthur.
Kellen relaxed and leaned on the piano. She’d been thinking the same thing, that an assassin would find the winery an easy place to take her out, and Rae and Max and... She didn’t want the winery to be a war zone.
She was happy standing here, under the tent, soaking in the summer heat, listening to the music and looking at Max as he wandered around his winery, viewing and assessing the changes.
He wasn’t sure. These weren’t his ideas. But he was a fair man, and Arthur’s enthusiasm—and the profit—was winning him over. The two men disappeared into the tasting room.
Dan said, “Arthur has spoken highly of Max and of you, and I understand Rae is your daughter.”
“That’s right.”
“She’s quite the inquisitive child. Impetuous. I understand she went with you into the mountains.”
“It was an adventure.” The heat seemed to dissipate and a shiver ran up her spine, the way it used to in Afghanistan when some unseen signal told her the enemy held them in their sights. She looked around.
A lot of people were watching her, especially the new hires, who still gave off the thrilled and nervous vibes. And that was definitely odd.
Dan switched to “Tennessee Waltz.” He still played without sheet music; what a memory he must have. “You look as if your adventure agreed with you.”
She briefly touched the still tender knot on the back of her head. “I don’t think we’ll be doing it again soon. I’d be fine with a little peace and quiet. What kind of acting did you do, Dan?”
“Mostly dramatic. I don’t have the voice for musicals, and I never wanted to be in the orchestra pit.” He smiled. “I like the attention. I like to be the lead.”
She understood. She’d been an officer. “The responsibility can be a burden, but there are undeniable privileges.”
Max was wandering through the crowd, observing the new operation. He met her gaze.
She raised her eyebrows in question. “Excuse me.”
Kellen and Max walked toward each other, and when they met under the shade of an oak, she quietly asked, “So what do we think of these changes?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is this what you asked Arthur to do when you hired him?”
“Not exactly. But it seems churlish to complain when in a week the operation has grown by leaps and bounds through innovation and good hiring practices. Doesn’t it?”
“Right... We wouldn’t be suspicious of any wrongdoing if we hadn’t just been chased all over the mountains.”
“And shot at.”
They were muttering at each other, looking around, arms crossed, backs to the tree.
“I’m not getting an assassin vibe from any of the new hires,” Kellen said.
“No, but—”
An old van stopped at the end of the driveway.
The door opened, and a small, bright, brilliantly pink figure hauling a dirty pink backpack darted up the driveway yelling, “Daddy! Mommy! Daddy! Mommy!”
45
Kellen and Max converged on their daughter.
Max picked her up and kissed her, then set her on her feet.
Rae hugged Kellen’s hips, made kissing noises at Kellen’s face and demanded, “Did you bring my bag?”
“I did. I told you I would.” Rae’s smile made Kellen feel like ThunderFlash, and in turn, her smug smile at Max made him roll his eyes.
Win-win.
Predictably, R
ae started talking. “Today we had show-and-tell and I told them about the Triple Goddess and being chased around the mountains by bad guys and sleeping outside and getting shot at and my ride in a helicopter.” She started toward the house.
Max stood, stunned.
Kellen followed Rae. “Sweetie, maybe you shouldn’t have told them that. It was all sort of secret.”
“It’s okay. I don’t think my teacher believed me. She said that was quite a story.”
Max caught up. “That’s good if your teacher doesn’t believe you, right?”
Rae shrugged, and Kellen thought she wasn’t quite as nonchalant as she appeared.
Rae continued, “Then we went to art to paint our pottery and Martin said nobody shot at us and I was a liar and everybody knew it. So I used my words like you told me, Daddy.”
“That’s good,” Max said cautiously.
“I told him he was wrong, that Mommy was shot and she had stitches and she passed out. He said his mommy said my mommy wasn’t a soldier, she was a hooker, and nobody would come to my birthday party because I had a bad mommy.”
Kellen got a sinking feeling. “What did you do?”
“I did like you told me to when someone is mean to a friend. I socked him right in the sternum. He fell down and hit his head on the ground and cried. He had a big smear of yellow paint on his shirt, too, because I was painting the sun. Wait.” Rae put down her backpack and dug around, then handed a piece of paper to Max. “I have a note from the camp director.”
Max opened it and read it, and winced.
At the same time, Verona walked out of the old-fashioned farmhouse, slammed the screen door behind her and shouted, “Rae Di Luca, I just got a call from Martin’s mother!”
Max started doing what Max did; handling the situation. He shoved the note into his pocket, took Kellen’s hand and Rae’s hand, and together they climbed the stairs up onto the porch. “Now, Mother. Calm down. Kellen and I can deal with this.”
“Do you know what they do to bullies? In camp and in school?” Verona opened the screen she’d just slammed and gestured at them to enter. “She’ll be expelled!”
“No, no.” Max had his soothing voice on. “I got a note from camp and they’re asking her to apologize to Martin.”
What Doesn't Kill Her Page 24
