“Welcome to Vanessa’s method of organization.”
“Effective.”
We continued through the cellar as it went deeper into the hill.
“This place is pretty big considering Frontier is a boutique winery. I’m surprised.”
Tessa shrugged. “Maybe they were preparing for greatness when they built the place.” She flicked her eyes at me. “They knew I was coming.”
“Tessa,” I groaned.
We reached a wrought iron gate that blocked off the rest of the cellar, which curved an additional fifteen feet before stopping.
“This is where the stuff gets good.” Tessa lifted up the large padlock on the gate. “And they keep this one locked.” She turned the base of the lock to the left, then the right. It popped open and the gate swung to the side. “It’s an insider secret.” She pointed at the labels of the next few tunnels. “’99, ’98, ’97, ’96, almost there.”
“Pretty generous of Mark to let us have a ’94. I’m sure it sells for a lot, since the current releases run so high.”
“Yeah, he’s sweet.” Tessa turned down a side tunnel labeled 1994. “Here’s the Merlot.” She motioned to the three alcoves in front of her. “Those over there are the Cabernet, and he didn’t make Pinot back then.”
Bottles of red wine lay carefully stacked on top of each other in alcoves in the stone, a layer of dark black mold covering several of the top bottles, except for three bottles of white wine. The labels on those were unblemished, the words Garrett Winery, 2012 Chardonnay in wide cursive writing above the image of a meadow with orange, yellow, and green brush strokes.
“A 2012 in the ’94 section?”
“Vanessa.” Tessa shrugged and picked up a small wire basket designed to keep older bottles level during transportation so the sediment remained undisturbed.
“Look at you, so knowledgeable about wine. You even have a basket to decant the wine.”
“I don’t want to drink a mouthful of sediment. Besides, not bad for four months on the job. I know a lot now.”
“What are the main grapes found in Bordeaux?”
“I meant about this wine, show off.” She leaned closer to the first alcove. “Which bottle shall I choose?”
I let out a small laugh. “Aren’t they all the same? And when have you ever been picky?”
Tessa stuck out her tongue. “I’m picky.”
“Give me two examples.”
“My shoes.”
I nodded. “Okay, good. Another one?”
Tessa tapped her lips. “My men.”
“Seriously? You mean you pick up a lot of men.”
“Funny. No, you’d be proud. I’m picky these days. Like my current boyfriend—he’s financially successful.”
“Wait, you have a boyfriend? But you don’t like to be tied down.”
Tessa put her hand over her mouth, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Well, sorta a boyfriend.” She bit the knuckle of her index finger and looked at me. “We haven’t made it one hundred percent official yet. But he adores me, he’s super cute, and he’s great in bed. There’s even been mention of the M word. I chose a good one this time.”
“Okay, I need to hear more right now. Why don’t I know this?” I stepped back and my hand hit the rack behind me. A bottle on the top wobbled and went crashing to the floor, wine and glass scattering across the space between us. “I’m so sorry!” I leaned down and tried to stop the wine with my hands as it flowed across the cellar floor.
Tessa stepped past me and returned a few seconds later with towels, a brush pan, and a bucket.
“Tessa, I can’t believe I did this. So sorry!”
“Don’t worry, you’re not the first and you’re definitely not the last.”
I pressed the towels onto the wine. “This is probably five hundred dollars’ worth of wine.”
“I know,” Tessa laughed. “Vanessa would be pissed. She’s all about the bottom line.”
“I don’t do stuff like this, I never break bottles. I think the exam unsettled me … I don’t know.” I stuffed the wine-soaked towels into the bucket while Tessa brushed the glass into the pan. “Will you get in trouble?”
Tessa shrugged. “Nah. I think we’re doing a good cleanup job.”
I sat back on my heels. “Look at me, I’m messing up your life again. You invite me to your work and look what I’ve done.”
“Messing up my life again?” Tessa stopped brushing. “Are you talking about …”
I nodded.
“You still think about that?”
“Yes.” I locked eyes with Tessa, the soft lighting casting a yellow shadow on her face.
“But why? That was what, twelve years ago?”
“I know, but I feel … I don’t know.”
Tessa stood up and grabbed the bucket. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine. Okay? You would have done the same for me. Right?”
The thought went through my mind.
“Right?”
“Yes,” I breathed out.
“Okay, good. Then let’s leave it. Come on, let’s get the wine and get out of here.”
“What about the bucket?”
Tessa handed it to me. “Put it by the door before we go out.”
“And it’ll be okay?”
“Of course.” Tessa smiled with her mouth closed. “There’s no way I can get fired from here.”
three
pairing suggestion: rosé—côtes de provence, france
A refreshing wine with a dry finish.
-
The daylight had turned soft, the bulbs above the lawn doing their best to replace the lost light as the sun lowered behind the hills. Caterers raced around with trays while guests pulled up at the valet.
“Find us a seat, I’ll be right back,” Tessa said as she handed me the basket and skipped to a booth. I sat down at a table on the far side of the lawn next to a hedge that separated the property. Tessa returned with two glasses and a decanter. “I’m glad I got these before the line started. People are going to get super drunk tonight.”
“Here, I have a wine opener.” I reached into my purse.
“I love that you leave your cell phone in your car, but still carry a wine opener. Don’t worry, I have one.” Tessa pulled a wine opener from the pocket of her dress.
“A dress with pockets, nice.”
“Effective fashion, Katie. I’m telling you, it’s the way to go.” Tessa cut off the foil and pushed the opener into the cork. The dark wood handle glinted in the overhead lights as the stainless-steel body turned. An engraving caught my attention. Tessa B.
“Nice opener.”
“I know, right? Mark bought it to thank me for all the great work I’ve done.”
“Expensive gift.”
Tessa shrugged. “I guess.” She removed the cork from the bottle. “Want to decant?”
“Sure. But we need a light.”
“Here.” Tessa took a lighter out of her pocket.
“I thought you quit smoking.”
“I did.”
I tilted my head to the side. “Why do you have that?”
“Listen, Katie, you never know when you might need a lighter. And right now is one of those times.” She smiled. “I’m ready, are you?”
“Oh, sorry.” I lifted up the bottle of wine and poured it into the glass decanter as Tessa held the lighter under the neck of the bottle to illuminate the line of sediment. When the line reached the neck, I stopped pouring, the sediment returning to the bottom of the bottle along with the last few ounces of wine as I placed it in the middle of the table next to the flower arrangement.
Tessa filled two glasses from the decanter, drops spilling onto the white tablecloth. “Oh well, I’m sure it’s the first of many spills tonight.” She handed a glass to me. “Not b
y me, of course, but by everyone here.” Tessa held up her glass. “Cheers to old friends and the best future Master Sommelier I know.”
I clenched my jaw. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“What do you mean maybe? You’ll get the Certified next time.” Tessa nodded, her curls falling in front of her face.
I swirled the wine in my hand, the droplets forming tears as they ran down the glass. “No, I think I’m done.”
“Bullcrap.” Tessa shook back her hair. “You don’t give up. I mean, that Police Academy thing—that was just for your dad, to follow in his footsteps. Your heart was never in it, even before the final test. But you’d never give up on wine.”
“Listen,” I interrupted as I held up my glass, “let’s toast to something positive.”
“Yes! Like how awesome we are?”
I laughed. “Sounds great.”
“Or,” said Tessa as she leaned forward and we clinked the glasses, “how about my upcoming promotion?”
“You’re getting a promotion? Already? Cheers to that!”
“Actually,” said Tessa as she swallowed a mouthful of wine, “it’s a gray area. And only sort of a promotion. And it’s hush-hush around here, so shh.” She took another long drink.
“Meaning?”
Tessa waved her free hand dismissively and shrugged.
I held my glass away from my face. “Tessa, what you are up to? Be honest with me.”
“I’m always honest with you,” said Tessa. “When have I ever lied to you?”
“Sixth grade. When you kissed Tommy Beeman.”
“Oh please, so one time in twenty years?” Tessa lifted up her glass. “Can’t I get an appeal, Judge Stillwell? I’ve served my time.”
A string quartet started playing from the corner of the lawn. As classical music flowed throughout the area, I focused my attention on the wine. More than twenty years of aging, more than twenty years since the grapes had been pressed and fermented, more than twenty years since the story had been formed, waiting to be uncorked.
I swirled it around the glass, watching it splash up the sides before I took a deep breath. Although muted from age, currants, blackberries, black cherries, and a hint of cocoa emerged from the wine.
I took a sip and let it fall over my palate, washing away the events of the day as I focused on the subtle flavors in the wine. It made me smile and I felt myself moving in time with the music.
“Um, what are you drinking?” A young man with dark brown hair and brown eyes stood next to the table, his gaze focused on the label of the wine.
“It’s not one of yours, Seb, so don’t worry about it,” replied Tessa.
Seb reached for the bottle, a tremor in his hand as he picked it up. His face was narrow, with small defined features, and his body was thin, nearly rail-like, as if that of a boy, although his face indicated he was in his twenties. He held the bottle in both hands as he examined the label. “A ’94 Merlot, huh? Are you kidding?”
“What?” said Tessa. “It was a good year.”
“Um, Vanessa is gonna be pissed. You’re done for sure.” His hand shook as he put the bottle back on the table and it fell over.
“Please.” Tessa picked up the bottle and righted it. “You need to relax once in a while.”
“I’m serious. Does Mark know that you’re drinking that?”
“Does Mark know what?” said Mark as he approached the table. He glanced at the bottle and then at Tessa. “Yes, Mark does know she’s drinking that.” His focus shifted to Seb. “You want some?”
“Um, no. Not ready to start drinking.” Seb hesitated, his left leg shaking as he drummed his fingers on his faded pant leg and glanced around the area. “Um, I’m gonna check with Alan to see if he needs help.” He took off toward the winery.
“He’s such a liar,” whispered Tessa. “He’s been drinking since three.”
“What does he do?”
“Assistant winemaker.”
Mark sat down at the table. “I love this time, right before the flood of guests arrive.”
“There are some already here.” I pointed toward the first booth, where four couples held empty glasses about to be filled.
“Yeah, but they’re busy drinking right now. I won’t have to start talking to people for another ten minutes or so.” Mark glanced over his shoulder. “Vanessa’s handling the last-minute details, so as long as she doesn’t see me sitting …” He motioned to the glass in my hand. “What do you think?”
“It’s beautiful. Balanced and smooth. And I love the age on it.”
“I’m glad you like it. The ’94 is my favorite year. Although I should pretend that every year is my favorite as it’s a business, but I can’t. The ’94 is the best.” Mark leaned back in his chair and looked across the lawn.
Two of the couples previously at the booth now sat at one of the round tables, their glasses of red wine contrasting against the white tablecloth.
“Can you believe it, one hundred years?” Mark’s voice contained a softness reserved only for moments of pure truth. “For one hundred years, my family has been on this ground, making wine. My dad, his dad, and his dad before that. My great-grandfather started with a dream and it’s still going.” He waved his hand in the air. “He only had a few workers when Frontier began and he did most of the work here himself. We still have his old wine press in the back. He did nearly everything by himself.” Mark’s eyes shifted back to the bottle of wine. “I’m fortunate to have a great team so we can all share the work.” He looked at me. “Your family in the wine business?”
The table rocked as Tessa stood up and walked over to the booths.
I returned my attention to Mark. “My uncle owns a winery.”
“It’s not an easy business. So much can go wrong.” Mark picked up the bottle and ran his thumb over the label. “But so much can go right. When everything comes together in harmony, you have a perfect bottle of wine. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. Create great wine and have it be appreciated by those who savor it.”
“My uncle feels the same way. He said making wine made his life worthwhile.”
Mark put the bottle down. “Is his winery here in the valley?”
“No, South West France actually. Just outside of Cahors.”
“Nice. Have you spent a lot of time there?”
“Used to,” I replied. “When I was little.”
Tessa returned to the table with a new glass, which she filled from the decanter and placed in front of Mark.
“Thank you, Tessa.” Mark picked up the glass. He held it up to us. “Salute.”
“Salute,” Tessa and I said in unison.
I took a sip of the wine, which now carried a depth it didn’t have before. The work Mark had put into the wine, the efforts of his great-grandfather to create a winery for his family in California, the years that the winery had been in Napa. It all came together in the glass with a story to tell.
“There are some people,” started Mark, “who think I should open the winery to the public.” He stared at the glass, a noticeable sadness in his eyes. “Produce more wine, have an open tasting room, give tours. Elements that will drive more of a profit. But it was never like that. It’s always been about the care put into the product, about making great wine, even if it’s a limited quantity. I can’t destroy my great-grandfather’s dream.” His eyes met mine as a soft glistening came into them.
“People aren’t always right, Mark,” inserted Tessa. “You need to do what you want.”
“You’re right.” He closed his eyes and lifted the glass to his chin, the wine trickling into his mouth, followed by a smile that clearly conveyed that he savored every aspect of the wine. “Perfection in a bottle,” he said after swallowing. He opened his eyes and held the glass up, the sparkling overhead lights creating bursts of cranberry colored orbs in th
e wine. “Everything was perfect that year. The weather, the yields, the process. I’d give anything to go back to ’94.”
“I was seven,” Tessa snickered.
“Thanks,” retorted Mark. He glanced across the lawn. “I guess I should go check in with Vanessa and greet the guests. She’s probably wondering where I am.” Mark stood up from the table. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”
“Thank you.” I raised my glass to him. “And thank you for sharing your wine with us.”
“My pleasure.” Mark turned from the table, his gait slow and reluctant across the lawn.
When he was halfway across the grass, I turned to Tessa. “You finally have a good job and a really nice boss. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. Not bad for a delinquent, if I do say so myself. And I do.” Tessa beamed, the purple stain across her teeth much darker than before. “Ooh look, here’s Alan. I’m going to try and get him to talk. This is fun, watch.”
An older gentleman with a white beard and a cowboy hat ambled near the table.
“Hey, Alan, having a good night?”
Alan’s head slightly nodded, the only acknowledgment that he had heard Tessa’s question.
“Want to join us for a drink?”
Alan shook his head and tipped his hand to his hat as he sauntered away.
“Okay,” said Tessa. “Maybe later.” She turned to me. “Man of few words but he makes a great wine. Been here for thirty years or something. One day, I’m going to find out what goes on in that head of his. I bet he has some good stories to tell.” Tessa poured herself another large glass of wine.
“It’s still early, Tee. Don’t you want to pace yourself ?”
Tessa rolled her eyes. “It’s a winery celebration, Katie. We’re supposed to drink. A lot. In fact, you have some catching up to do.” She topped off my glass and then took a gulp of her own wine as she studied something in the distance.
I turned and followed her gaze. A raven-haired girl with perfect posture and a fitted black dress paraded around the tables as she gave directions to a young man in a white apron.
“A friend of yours?”
“Hardly. That’s Mark and Vanessa’s assistant, Lisa. She doesn’t play nice.”
Decanting a Murder Page 3
