Decanting a Murder

by Nadine Nettmann

  “Okay, so Tessa said she saw him. Did Seb confirm that?”

  “No, Seb said he didn’t remember when I asked him. But I believe her.”

  “So we have Tessa, who says that Seb saw her, and we have Seb, who says he didn’t see her.” Dean’s light blond hair swept over his face. I hadn’t noticed how attractive he was before. Perhaps the situation last night had clouded my judgment.

  “Yes.”

  “Katie,” Dean said, putting down his pen, “you’re too close to this case.”

  “Maybe, but I also learned a lot about investigating from my dad. I know that the most obvious suspect can be the wrong one and while everyone is focused on that one, the guilty one gets away.”

  “You’re talking about the O’Reily case, aren’t you? The one that put your dad on the map.”

  I shrugged. “My dad looked beyond the obvious clues, which pointed to the father-in-law, and he found the real murderer.”

  “I know. That was a national case.”

  “Exactly. So don’t you think it’s worth looking at everyone?”

  Dean nodded, his eyes on his notebook. “You make a good point.” He looked up at me. “Why aren’t you a cop? Isn’t your whole family in law enforcement?”

  “Yeah, my dad, my two uncles, and my grandfather.” I forced a smile. “But that’s a story that takes longer than a cup of coffee.”

  “I’d like to hear it.” Dean’s eyes locked on mine and then he sat up, as if remembering where he was. “Anyway, I’m heading back to the winery this morning to go over the details of the case and review potential evidence. I’ll find Seb and see what he can tell me about Tessa last night.” Dean tipped his mug back and downed the rest of his coffee before putting his empty cup on the table.

  I looked at the hot chocolate left in my mug. I could feel Dean’s eyes fixated on me so I took my time, waiting a few more seconds before slowly drinking the last few sips.

  When I was done, I carefully placed the cup in front of me. “Thanks for joining me. I don’t often meet people for coffee. Or hot chocolate.”

  “No?” said Dean, his eyebrows raised. “No boyfriend?”

  I laughed. “That’s a leading question.”

  “Sorry.” Dean’s cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “No, I know. Don’t worry about it. I meant with my line of work, nights and weekends, it doesn’t really leave time for a cup of coffee. Wine, yes, but coffee, no. This was nice.” I motioned to the waitress for the bill.

  “Same,” said Dean. “I appreciate your info about the argument with Vanessa and Garrett and also about Seb.”

  “I’m happy to help. And not just because of Tessa.” I cringed at the last statement. What was I doing? This wasn’t like me. I never flirted. Ever.

  The waitress slipped the check onto the table. I reached for my purse, but Dean held up his hand. “No, please. Let me.”

  “Thank you. That’s very nice of you.”

  “My pleasure.” Dean put a ten-dollar bill on the table.

  I stood up. “So are you heading back to the winery right now?”

  “Yep.” Dean held the door open for me.

  “You know,” I said as we walked out of the coffee shop, “it might be helpful if I came along.”

  “This is an investigation.”

  “I know. But I’ve picked up a few tips from my dad. You never know, I might notice some clues that could help.”

  “You’re Tessa’s friend.”

  I stopped walking and faced him. “Detective Dean.”

  “People mostly just call me Dean.”

  “Okay, Dean, this is important.” I stared straight into his blue eyes. “I’m not going to jeopardize the case. I want to help.”

  Dean broke the eye contact and focused on the street behind me. “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can,” I inserted. “There’s no law against taking someone along with you. Civilians join officers on ride-alongs all the time.”

  He slowly shook his head. “I shouldn’t.”

  “But?” I waited.

  “Fine. But if anyone asks, you only wanted a ride, okay? You don’t ask any questions, you don’t touch anything, and you don’t make suggestions in front of other people. You’re not involved. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I did my best to hide my smile as we approached the station.

  Dean pointed to a sheriff’s car in front. “We’ll take that one. I’ll be right back.” He ran up the steps of the station as I waited by the car.

  When he returned, he opened the driver’s door and pointed to the passenger side. “You can get in, you know.”

  “Just wanted to make sure I can ride in front.”

  “Of course.”

  I slid into the front seat. “Thanks, Dean.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said. “Like really, don’t mention it.”

  twelve

  pairing suggestion:

  pinot grigio—friuli-venezia giulia, italy

  Subtlety is key in this unoaked white wine

  with flavors of lemon and peanut shells.

  -

  Although we passed by vineyards as we drove, Dean kept all the windows up in the car, the scent of Napa replaced by pine air freshener. My eyes drifted along the perpendicular rows covering the hillsides and I did my best to imagine the familiar aroma missing from our drive.

  “You’re very quiet. You okay?” asked Dean.

  “Oh, sorry. I was watching the vineyards.”

  “Watching the vineyards?”

  “Yeah.” I glanced at Dean. “I love the organization and the magic that is happening on those vines at this very moment, everything coming together in order to create a great bottle of wine in the future.”

  “Bet you don’t see a lot of vines in Los Angeles, right?” Dean remarked.

  “Not too many. How do you know I’m from Los Angeles?”

  He shrugged. “Your father is the police chief there. I just figured.”

  “Yeah. Born and raised there, now I’m in San Francisco.”

  “Didn’t want to stay close to home?”

  I sighed. “It’s complicated.”

  “Isn’t everything? I remember meeting your father years ago at a law enforcement convention in San Diego. He’s very respected.” Dean turned down the Silverado Trail. “Why didn’t you want to go into the same profession?”

  I leaned back in the seat and watched the vineyards go by. “As I said, it’s a long story.” Tightness filled my chest as the memory of flunking out of the Police Academy went through my mind. I replaced it with an image of my mother holding a glass of wine. “But let’s say the wine world was calling.”

  “The wine world is good, too,” said Dean. “I have some friends who work in it. In fact, one says he can tell what the wine is only by tasting it.”

  I bit my lip to stop from smiling. After a pause, I added, “I can do that.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, blind tasting. I mean, I’m not excellent at it, but I’m pretty good. At least I thought I was.” I shook off the sentence. “I meet with a group twice a week to practice. We bring bottles in paper bags to hide the labels and we each have to identify a wine only by sight, smell, and taste.”

  “Can I come watch?”

  I laughed. “It’s not like that. It’s a group of somms studying for the sommelier exams. There’s no audience.” I glanced at Dean. “How about you? How long have you been with the sheriff’s department?”

  Dean straightened his posture and held the wheel with his right hand, the other hand on the side of the door. “It will be eleven years this fall and I’ve been a detective for two. But I’ve only been in Napa about six months. Transferred here from Sacramento.”

  “You like it? Being a detective,
I mean.”

  “Love it. Righting the wrong, looking out for the little guy.”

  “The little guy. You mean the innocent? I think Tessa falls into that category.”

  “Possibly.”

  I could almost see a small smile appear on his face, but I wasn’t sure. “Watch, she’ll be proven innocent and then you’re going to have to make it up to me.”

  “Oh really?” Dean looked over at me. “And how will I do that?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.” My smile grew larger. “But I know it’s coming.”

  Dean slowed down as he turned into the driveway of Garrett Winery.

  “We’re going here?”

  “I have a couple of questions for him, then we’ll head over to Frontier.”

  A modern beige building with a pointed roof and intricate woodwork came into view, a stark contrast to the one-hundred-year-old neighbor next door. The driveway stopped at a vast parking lot next to an area with picnic tables and white umbrellas. Two men rolled barrels into the courtyard as a third man, Jim Garrett, stood nearby.

  I looked at Dean as I motioned to Garrett. “Don’t tell him it was me, I don’t want him to know I was listening.”

  Dean nodded as he turned off the engine. “I’m very discreet and I never reveal my sources. You’re welcome to stay in the car while I talk to him.”

  An SUV pulled up next to us.

  “Yeah, right,” I said as the SUV’s occupants headed toward the sign for the tasting room. “It’s just past ten and they’re open for tastings.” I glanced at Dean. “Besides, who says I can’t blend?” I got out of the car as the two men in the courtyard started to steam the barrels, the sweet smell of toasted oak, cinnamon, and nutmeg in the air.

  I followed the path to the tasting room, passing the outline of an old concrete foundation filled with flowers. The scents of different varietals greeted me as I entered the tasting room, which was combined with the gift shop. Shelves of glasses, mugs, books, and gift baskets covered the light wood walls. A broad wooden bar sat in the middle with a silver-haired lady behind it, helping two people at one end. I pulled up one of the polished wood stools and took a seat, watching as she poured white wine into the tasting glasses.

  Her eyes met mine as she finished pouring and she walked over. “Are you here for a tasting?”

  “At the moment, I’m just looking.”

  “Okay, darling, you let me know if there’s anything you want to try. We have a flight of four wines for forty dollars and we offer a few wines by the glass.” She placed a laminated wine list on the bar in front of me. “There’s also truffles if you would like one.” She motioned to a bowl full of chocolate truffles dusted with powdered sugar.

  “Will do.” I glanced at the list of Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc, Viognier, Pinot Noir, Cabernet Sauvignon, and two dessert wines. I was tempted to try at least one of the wines, but I didn’t know how long Dean would be. I leaned back on my stool and glanced outside the door. Dean stood in the courtyard, writing as Garrett talked. This could take a while.

  I motioned to the lady, who came right over. “Did you want to try something?” Wrinkles formed around her eyes as she smiled.

  “Yes, I’d love to try your Sauvignon Blanc. Just a single tasting, please.”

  “Not a problem.” The lady placed a glass in front of me and pulled a bottle of Garrett Sauvignon Blanc from under the counter. She poured approximately one ounce into the glass, the golden liquid swirling around. “This is our 2014 Sauvignon Blanc. We age it for five months in French oak.” She returned to the couple at the other side of the bar as I lifted up the glass. Amber droplets ran down the side.

  I held it to my nose and took four short sniffs. I raised my eyebrows and looked at the glass. It was void of the ammonia smell I tended to detect in many Sauvignon Blancs, a characteristic which usually turned me off of the varietal.

  I sniffed it again and identified yellow apple, Meyer lemon, white flowers, butterscotch, and oak. It was clearly Sauvignon Blanc. I felt my confidence in my blind tasting slowly returning.

  I took a sip, swishing the wine around my mouth. Flavors of apple, lemon, grapefruit, pineapple, and mango filled my palate before I spit in the nearby bucket, the crisp acidity still on my lips, the flavors lingering on my tongue. Nicely done, Garrett. I wasn’t sure why Jeff hadn’t been a fan of Garrett wine. Maybe it was the use of oak, which wasn’t discernible in Frontier wine, but here, jumped out of the glass.

  I stared at the Sauvignon Blanc. My way of figuring out the alcohol level was to swallow the wine, but I didn’t want to smell like alcohol in front of Dean.

  I shrugged and took another sip and swallowed. The heat of the alcohol flared up in my throat and it was clear that this wine was at least 14 percent, if not more.

  I continued tasting, this time letting the wine fall over my tongue before spitting in the bucket. When the glass was empty, I placed it on the counter.

  The lady returned. “Did you like it?”

  “Delicious. I really like the acidity in this one. Would pair well with a white flaky fish.”

  “I’m glad you like it. Garrett makes a great Sauv Blanc.” She lifted up a different bottle. “Want another one?”

  “No, thank you.” I paused. “What was this winery before it was Garrett?”

  The lady hesitated, as if enjoying a memory. “Chateau Fleur de lys. It was all wood and it was beautiful. It had been around about thirty years. But when Garrett came in, he wanted everything new.” She motioned to the room. “So here we are.”

  I motioned outside. “Was that the foundation out there, the one with flowers?”

  She nodded as she picked up a different bottle. “That was our old tasting room.” She poured another ounce into my glass. “This one’s on the house. Let me know what you think.”

  I picked up the glass and sniffed, immediately identifying floral notes and a lot of honeysuckle. I took another breath. Peaches and apricots. I tasted the wine. Bold flavors of tangerine and peach captivated my mouth and I delayed spitting it out for longer than usual. When I finally did, I remarked to the lady, “Almost a shame to spit it out.”

  She winked. “I can see by your smile that you like that one. Thought you might. That’s our Viognier. We have a vineyard up in St. Helena.”

  “Do you grow all your own grapes or do you source?”

  “Both,” said the lady as she polished a glass with a blue towel. “We grow a lot of our grapes in our vineyards around Napa, but we also source from other vineyards. We have certain Chardonnays that are estate bottled, but we don’t offer those in the regular tastings.”

  I swirled the wine left in my glass before looking up at the lady. “Have you worked here long?”

  “Twenty years, give or take.”

  “So before Garrett?”

  The lady smiled politely. “Yes, before we were Garrett Winery.”

  I stared at my glass and tilted it sideways, the light coming through the wine in amber waves. “Tell me, how do you ferment the grapes? Steel, oak, or concrete?”

  “We have stainless-steel tanks.”

  The wine splashed up the sides of the glass as I brought it back down to the counter. “Does Garrett help with the process? Maybe loading the grapes?”

  She laughed. “Garrett doesn’t know how to do any of that. He bought new presses, new tanks, new everything when he took over, but he can’t operate a thing. Between you and me, I miss the old winery.”

  “Would he be able to open the top of the tank?”

  “Honey”—she titled forward, an amused look on her face—“he wouldn’t even know what the top looks like. Besides, he threw his back out a few years ago and can’t lift more than a few pounds.” She motioned to my glass. “You all done?”

  I nodded and reached into my purse. “How much do I owe you for the tasting?”

&
nbsp; “Ten dollars.”

  I opened my wallet and pulled out twelve dollars to incorporate a tip. “Thanks, this was fun. You make great wine.”

  “Thank you. We’re offering fifteen percent off all cases this week if you want to place an order.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “There you are,” said Dean as he stood at the entrance to the tasting room. “Ready to go?”

  “Yep.” I took the last swig of the wine, swished it around in my mouth, and spat it into the bucket.

  “I wondered about that,” Dean whispered as I walked past him and out the door. “Is it bad wine?”

  “No, it was delicious.” I took the steps two at a time and waited for Dean. “It’s polite to spit it out. That way you taste the wine but don’t get intoxicated.”

  “Hmm …” said Dean. “Interesting. I can still smell it on you though.”

  “Figures. I have been tasting wine, you know. Should I worry about your detective skills?” I winked as I reached his car and opened the door. I had a feeling of elation, but it wasn’t from the alcohol. It was the happiness I experienced whenever I tasted excellent wine.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  I turned to him. “Good wine, my friend. It’s good for the soul.” I faced the front and stared at the nearby vines as Dean started the car. He paused at the exit of Garrett Winery, waiting for a car to pass before he pulled onto the road.

  “So …?” My comment broke the silence. “What did you find out? Can you fill me in on what Garrett said? You talked to him for a little while.”

  Dean turned into the driveway of Frontier Winery, a sheriff’s car stationed at the gates. Dean waved as we drove past. “Yeah, that didn’t go exactly as I had planned, but it’s to be expected.”

  “Did you ask him about the argument?”

  Dean nodded.

  “And?”

  “He said it’s none of my business. Actually, his exact words were, ‘Sir, that is none of your business. Now good day.’”

  I leaned back in the seat. “Wow.”

  “Murder brings out an interesting side of people.” Dean parked in front of the Frontier offices.