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Pairing Suggestion
QUADY ELECTRA RED CALIFORNIA MUSCAT
For this book I’d love to recommend one of my favorite red moscato wines. Quady Electra Red is a bright fruity wine with a lustrous and inviting red shimmer. Take a note from my book and get lost in the succulent cherry, strawberry, raspberry, and peach flavors as they unfold and dance across your tongue. A low alcohol content and a slight sparkly zip make this a perfect late-night wine, not only will it help carry you off to sleep, but that low ABV (alcohol by volume) will assure you wake feeling fresh and alert instead of hungover and fuzzy.
Few things are as lovely as an easy read and a wonderful wine. I often times find myself smiling just thinking about sliding into bed with a bottle and a book. What could be better, right?
Chapter One
With the contest approaching I could hardly sleep, let alone concentrate on anything other than selecting the perfect wine. It was a small thing, but having such important people taste my wine could lead to much bigger things. Not to mention this would be my first attempt at hosting anything since inheriting my grandfather’s winery, Chateau de Midnight.
I’d always loved springtime, and luckily I’d grown up on the edge of Mendocino County which was on the Northern-most tip of California’s wonderful wine country. The location not only gave my vineyard stunning views of rolling hills and mountain vistas, but often also provided us with a glorious view of spring foliage.
Not that I’d ever wanted to be a vintner, it’s just that winemaking was in my blood. It was part of who I was whether I liked it or not. Besides, after being served divorce papers while standing in line at one of the three Starbucks in my neighborhood I figured it was as good a time as any to leave the big city and come back home.
It’s what my grandfather would have wanted.
If I was being honest with myself I never felt truly at home in New York anyway. The noise, the traffic, the fact that I didn’t know any of my neighbors’ names… none of it felt like the girl I’d been raised to be. But, I was young once, too young I guess. So, with a head full of dreams and a little money in my pocket I set out for New York City.
Uncorking another bottle, I thought about my ill-fated romp in the Big Apple. The way the cold winters felt so different, so much more abrasive than the delightful California ones I’d grown up with. The holidays were often white in both places, but in New York the cold weather seemed to threaten its citizens with winter. In Mendocino County winter felt more like an old friend than anything else, one I always looked forward to seeing again.
New York was good for a while I guess. I found my way as a food critic, tasting dishes that were sometimes delicious and other times vomit inducing, though mostly they were just forgettable. But with me being one of only two grandchildren, when my grandfather died, I ended up in the brand new situation of acquiring a flourishing vineyard and losing a husband within a week.
I still like to think I came out ahead.
“What about the 92’ Merlot?” Angie said, pointing to a bottle on the shelf. “If I remember right, it has quite a kick.”
“I’m not sure a ‘kick’ is what we’re looking for.” I said. “I want something smooth and rich for the vintage and something bright and fresh for the contemporary. From everything I’ve learned about them the judges like a wine that’s warm and fuzzy; kind of like a blanket in front of a fireplace at the end of a great night.”
“I’m not sure they make wines like that,” Angie said. “Though with these temperatures I wouldn’t mind a blanket made of wine…”
“We need to keep looking,” I laughed back. “Are you sure we’ve catalogued all of the barrels?”
“Quite sure.” Angie said.
“And the bottles too?”
“And the bottles too.” She smiled back.
Angie Barker was a few years older than me, with bright blue eyes and short blond hair. We’d spent some time together during our younger days, but with her being two grades above me it was hard to be anything other than acquaintances. We’d made up for that however. Since the moment I’d driven down the long dirt driveway leading to what was now my very own vineyard, Angie was standing there with a smile, welcoming me back to the small seaside town I once called home. That was over two years ago and I’d seen her almost every day since. She was now my best friend, and I treasured her.
“Okay…” I said, lifting a bottle of cabernet. “Lets’ mark this one as a possibility. Take the notes and see what else you can come up with.”
“You got it.” She jotted down the wine’s year and blend number then set off back into the barrel room.
She’d been working for the vineyard for quite some time, ever since the dissolution of her own marriage five years ago. Not to mention the long summers she always spent working for my grandfather. Suffice to say Angie was pretty familiar with the place, and I was thankful for that.
I’d been born among the vines, eating grapes and lifting barrels as far back as I could remember, but that didn’t mean I was great at running an entire winery, at least not yet. I’d always approached my time in this place as temporary, always knowing I’d one day leave to chase my dreams. I just never thought chasing those dreams would bring me right back home.
It was almost lunch time and I’d been awake since the sun came up, tasting, swishing and spitting, but still I hadn’t found the right contender for the contest. Not to mention the small fact that this was my first time hosting anything, That’s right… the annual Coastal California Wine Club Tasting Contest was to be held right here, in Chateau de Midnight. And during the spring wine festival no less. As you can imagine, the whole thing had me completely stressed out.
Not to brag or anything, but my mind was so full I often actually forgot what I was doing while doing it. Tell me that’s not talent…
“Ms. Zara.” One of the vineyard workers called to me.
Since the day I’d arrived back home I’d insisted everyone on this property call me by my first name, none of that Ms. Myers stuff… I was no spring chicken, I know that, but that kind of thing still managed to make me feel like a dinosaur and I wasn’t ready for that quite yet.
“Yes Jake?” I replied.
“The Muscat.” He smiled. “They’re germinating. I can’t wait to show the wine club president. He’ll be stopping by later today to look over the grounds.”
He was practically beaming with excitement. This particular Muscat grape was one I’d been trying to grow here since my first month of running this place. But, like all good things I had to wait for it. I’d once tasted a blend of the grape while on a business trip to Italy. The New York based magazine I’d been working for sent me there to film a television spot on a series of village restaurants. Once I tasted the blend I was in love, but try as I might I just couldn’t find it back in the states.
It took a little convincing and a lot of hard work, but a while later I had a small piece of dormant, bare-root Red Muscat vine for myself. I just had no idea when bringing that vine to my grandfather that I’d be the one to actually cultivate it. That had been nearly four years ago and it seemed the vine was finally ready to give life.
Not that it would help me out much now. The competition was only two weeks away and I’d be a while yet actually getting anything useful from my new vine, but it was nice to know something was going well in the middle of all my stress.
“Awesome!” I said. “
Too bad it won’t be ready in time for the contest…”
“Maybe next year.” Jake smiled. “If you’re still here…”
“I’ve told you. I’m not selling, Jake.”
A few months ago I answered a knock on my door only to be greeted by a representative from Clideworth Inc. As it turned out he was a scout for one of the largest wine distributors in the world, and he was going to make me an offer I couldn’t refuse. At least, that’s what he said…
It seems Clideworth Incorporated is in the market to not only distribute wine, but also grow grapes. Due to the privacy clause in their contract I couldn’t see which of my neighbors had taken their offer, only that they’d already gotten one of the three signatures they needed to make the purchase worthwhile.
The gentleman told me I would be paid handsomely, the only thing I had to do was turn over my business completely in “as-is” condition. Meaning I would lose all of my grapes, my vines and my barrels. Basically, I’d take the cash and walk.
But that’s not what my grandfather would have wanted, and honestly, it’s not what I wanted either. I liked being back home among the vines. I liked waking up with the warm California sun at my side and the smell of fermenting wine carrying across the breeze. I wasn’t selling, now I knew where my home was and that was a lesson I learned the hard way.
Chapter Two
Seeing customers was actually one of my favorite parts of running my vineyard. I never thought I’d be the kind of person that looked forward to talking to people, which is why I never dared enter the world of retail. Still though; talking to the few customers my vineyard received in the run of a day, telling them about wine, learning why some people preferred red wines above white, while others preferred sparkling above still. It was all very interesting. Besides, it was a good distraction from the all-encompassing stress of the contest.
“We’ll see about you…” I muttered to the bottle on the counter before taking a final sip and heading out the door.
“Hello.” I said, sliding to a sudden stop.
I wasn’t expecting to see anyone in the front room. I guess I was just too caught up in tasting and chatting with Shelly to even hear the bell ring. Not to mention I startled about as easy as a deer in the woods. I always had.
“Hi.” He said. “I’m Daniel Haddish.”
“Haddish…” I muttered under my breath.
The name sounded familiar but at the moment I just couldn’t place it. Names had never really been my strong-suit though, I was always better with faces. And looking at his face I was sure I’d have remembered if we’d ever met. He was tall, with big blue eyes and sandy brown hair and what I was sure would have been a sweet smile if not for the almost-scowl on his face.
“Yes.” He snapped. “Daniel Haddish of Glass Rose Vineyards.”
“Oh, right…” I replied.
Glass Rose Vineyards was a few miles down the road, just over the rolling hills that surrounded my own property. I’d been here a while and more than a few times I meant to stop by, but I was always either too busy or just not sure of myself enough to go walking into a direct competitors vineyard. After all, I was the new kid on the block.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked.
“I was just curious about the layout of the contest.” He said. “Will the tasting be held in the vineyard, or will they be indoors? I’d like to know what to bring and as far as I can tell you haven’t posted anything on the community boards.”
“I… Don’t know.” I stammered, unsure of exactly how to respond. “I though the club would set all of that up…”
“You expect the wine club to come onto your property and tell you how to layout your guests?” He asked, pursing his lips as though he’d just sucked a lemon.
“I…”
“That’s’ your job.” He said. “I thought you’d have read up on the contest before offering to host it. Or at least checked up on the previous years and how they all handled it.”
“Offered to host it?” I said. “I... I didn’t offer-“
It seemed the contest would also double as an open entry into the club for its winner. Which made sense seeing as how every member of the Coastal California Wine Club would be there. That’s another reason selecting the perfect wine was so important to me. It might just be my ticket into the club.
I wasn’t sure when our little neck of the woods became the “go-to” spring destination of wine country. Sure, the views were stunning and the wine was delicious, but there were a lot of other places with equally beautiful, albeit less tasty wine. It just seemed that no matter what time of the year you checked, there were at least two weddings and a couple of festivals per month around here.
“Listen.” He interrupted. “You need to get it together, and fast. The other winemakers need to know how to prepare, otherwise it’s a mess for everyone.”
“Excuse me.” I said, becoming a little aggravated with his tone. “It was a simple miscommunication. That’s all.”
“And some of us have plans for the future you know.”
“What?” I asked. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Look. I just came for a little information. I can see you don’t have any though, so I’ll be on my way.” He said, sitting a bottle of wine on the counter, then turning to leave. “A gift… our vintage dark moscato.”
I couldn’t believe how rude he was to me. In the whole time I’d been in California I’d met all different kinds of people but they all had one thing in common. They were friendly. Daniel Haddish however, was another story. At least, that’s the way it seemed.
“Who was that?” Shelly asked, coming in from the back door.
“Daniel Haddish…” I said, watching him drive away.
“From Glass Rose Vineyards?” She asked. “What did he want?”
“Information…” I said. “Information I don’t have…”
“Huh?” Shelly replied.
“Nothing. I just need to call the wine club and figure a few things out, that’s all.”
“Okay…” Shelly said, cocking one eyebrow. “Well… I found another vintage I think you should try. It’s from a smaller batch that I wouldn’t normally suggest, but I think it might have the right notes.”
“Alright.” I said, trying my best to put Daniel out of my mind.
“Great.” Shelly said. “You go ahead. I’ll deal with this guy…”
“What guy?” I asked, looking up.
Through the glass doors I could see an elderly gentleman headed toward us. He looked to be about six feet tall with thinning hair and very fair skin. A loose-fitting brown suit crinkled as he pulled open the door and stepped inside.
“Hello!” Shelly gave a big smile. “Please take a moment to look around while I go gather a few new glasses and a bowl.”
“Alright.” He said in a tone much more rude than I expected. “I’m looking for something very specific and I don’t need any fuss about it.”
“Great…” I muttered, heading into the back room. “Another sourpuss…”
How was it that two customers in a row were rude? Though, I guess if I was getting specific about it Daniel Haddish wasn’t really a customer. Quite the opposite actually, he’d brought me something.
“Crap!” I said aloud, realizing I’d left the bottle of wine he’d given me on the front counter.
Walking into my tasting room I saw a bottle of wheat colored wine with light greenish reflections. I grabbed a glass from the shelf and began pouring. The soft sound of gurgling filled the room as the wine flowed out of the bottle and into the glass. I’d always loved that sound, even as a kid. There was something almost romantic about it, the way the soft liquid poured out, splashing against the long stemmed glass before settling into a delightfully complex liquid.
I swished the glass around in my hand, allowing each note to escape, rising above the liquid and hover near the top of the glass. I brought it to my face and took a long sniff, allowing each note to rest in my
nose, one by one releasing a different burst of lustrous flavor. There was something almost woody about it, though just barely.
A strong vibrant mix of peach and pear washed over me, mixing with the bright sugar alcohol from the fermented grapes. It was an enticingly complicated scent, one I was more than happy to let roll across my tongue. I held it in my mouth, taking in a little bit of oxygen along with every swish before spitting it back into a large silver bowl on the counter.
Wine tasting was far from the most glamorous thing in the world. After all, I doubted there was one finishing school or cotillion in the world that prided girls on spitting. But that was just the nature of the beast, right?
“My goodness!” Shelly came into the room.
“What?” I replied.
“That guy. He’s so picky…”
“What does he want?” I asked.
“He doesn’t know… He only knows what he doesn’t want. But he knows nothing about wine…”
“If he doesn’t know what he wants then how is he managing to be picky about it?” I said, dabbing the corners of my mouth with a small white cloth.
“It’s a real talent.” Shelly deadpanned. “I’d bet he’s spent a lifetime mastering it.”
“Sounds like it.” I said. “Need some help?”
“No.” She said. “I think I can settle him on this Riesling.”
“Bring that bottle Daniel left when you come back.” I said.
“Alright.” She said absentmindedly.
“Good luck.” I smiled as she grabbed a bottle from the shelf. “And I think you were right about this one. It’s delightful.”
“Awesome!” She said, heading back out the door and into the front. “I’ll get a few more bottles.”
“Great!” I said.
I was hoping for an easy night, to just curl up beside my window, sip something sweet and just stare out on the sun as it set over the vines, but like so many plans I’d made before, it wasn’t meant to be.
“AHHH!” Shelly’s scream echoed through the building.
Murder Before Moscato_A Vineyard Winery Culinary Cozy Mystery Page 1
