Decanting a Murder

by Nadine Nettmann

  “That’s okay, I’m glad I had better luck.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t think Garrett had anything to do with it.”

  Dean turned to me. “Please explain.”

  “Apparently he can’t lift more than a few pounds. Has a bad back. Also, from what I just heard, he wouldn’t know the slightest thing about any of the equipment. I guess Tessa was right; he really is just a businessman.” I could see Dean out of the corner of my eye as he stared at me. I looked at the scenery in front of me instead of meeting his gaze. Eventually he turned off the engine.

  “See, I told you I would be helpful.” I started to open the car door. “Let’s see what we can find out here. It’s like my group reminds me during blind tasting—everything is a clue.”

  thirteen

  pairing suggestion: chardonnay—sonoma coast, ca

  An oaked and buttery wine as things start to get rich.

  -

  The yellow crime scene tape flapped in the wind around the doorway of the winery, but Dean motioned to the offices.

  “We’ll go here first.” He headed up the steps toward the side door and held it open for me.

  The heavy pounding of a keyboard echoed in the hall. Dean walked past me to the second door, where Lisa sat typing furiously in front of her computer.

  “Can I help you?” she asked without looking up.

  “Detective Dean.”

  She stopped typing and formed her bright red lips into a clearly rehearsed smile. “Why Detective Dean, how nice of you to stop by.” Her focus drifted to me. “And Tessa’s little friend. What can I help you with?”

  “I have a few questions for Sebastian Hain. Is he working today?”

  Lisa shrugged. “After the mess last night, I’m not sure who’s working and who’s not. Technically he should be here. But is he? I don’t know. You’d have to go the winery and look for him.”

  “What about Vanessa? Is she around?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. She’s visiting her mother in the city. It was a rough night, as you can well imagine.”

  “Yes.” Dean opened his notepad. “Since I have you here, I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “I’m very happy to help our members of law enforcement.” She straightened up in the chair and folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “What can I tell you?”

  “I’d like to know about Mark and Vanessa’s relationship. Did they get along?”

  Lisa put her hand to her chest, the red nail polish contrasting with her white blouse. “Is Vanessa a suspect? Because I’d heard that you already arrested Tessa for the murder.”

  “Tessa is a person of interest, I will tell you that, but we’re exploring every lead.”

  “You’re so thorough.” Lisa placed her chin on her hand, her elbow on the desk. “I like it.”

  I shifted uncomfortably.

  “As you know, all relationships have their issues.” Lisa’s eyes fell to his left hand and then back up to his face. “Or maybe you don’t know. But overall they were a happy couple. Of course, every relationship is like a bottle of wine. Sometimes it improves with age and sometimes it goes sour.”

  “Can you explain?”

  “I think it’s self-explanatory.” Lisa’s eyes were emotionless as she smiled with her lips closed.

  “Okay.” Dean looked at his notepad. “To your knowledge, has Mark received any threats from anyone? Maybe an ex-employee or a rival?”

  “We’re all friends here in Napa,” said Lisa. “There’s always a little friendly competition, however I don’t know of anyone that would want to hurt Mark. He was a nice guy. Maybe too nice, if you get my drift.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “Nice people get walked on, Detective Dean. I think he let himself be controlled too much by others.”

  “Can you tell me who?”

  Lisa’s eyes flashed at me and then back at Dean. “No, I think I’m done here. I’ve said enough. If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do. One of our owners died, you know.” She returned her focus to the computer screen and started typing.

  “Ms. Warner,” Dean started, but Lisa put her hand up without looking away from the computer screen.

  “Any additional questions will have to go through my lawyer. If everyone’s a suspect, then I need to protect myself. However, I will say this, which could help you. Be wary of grapes that shouldn’t be growing together. That’s the best I can do.” Lisa looked up and forced a smile. “Be a dear and close the door on your way out.” She returned to typing.

  We exited the office and I closed the door behind me.

  “Sour grapes,” I whispered.

  “The usual.” Dean looked down the dark hallway, the open doors vacant of activity. “Let’s go find Sebastian.” He opened the door and I stepped through.

  “When someone refuses to talk anymore and wants their lawyer, what can you do with that?”

  Dean shook his head. “Nothing at the moment. If I need more information from her, I’ll get in touch with her lawyer. It’s the way some people want to play. It doesn’t always mean they have something to hide. Sometimes they don’t want to get involved and other times they want to make it difficult.”

  “I wonder what set her off ?” We started walking across the lawn. “One second she was sharing, the next she wasn’t.”

  “I don’t know exactly, but it was when she looked at you. I don’t think that was a coincidence. Did Tessa get along with her?”

  “I’m not sure. I know last night she made a comment about Lisa wanting to take credit for everything. Oh, and she said Lisa doesn’t play nice. Other than that, I don’t know any specifics. What a mess.”

  “Don’t worry. Things always seem to come out of the blue when you least expect them.” Dean pointed around the winery toward the hillside. “Anything back here? I didn’t get around here last night.”

  “The wine cellar. I’ll show you.” I motioned to the concrete entrance set into the hill. “It’s there.”

  “Would anyone be inside?” Dean approached the wooden doors.

  “You ask a lot of questions of me, it’s pretty interesting. How would I know?”

  “Your best friend works here. I figure you would know more than me.”

  “But I don’t. I have no idea how things work around here. Like you, my first time on the property was yesterday.”

  Dean pulled open one door and stuck his head in. He stayed there for a few seconds before stepping back outside and closing the door. “It’s cold in there.”

  “Keeps the wine safe at a steady temperature. Anyone in there?”

  “Not that I could see. Let’s head over to the winery,” said Dean. The hill sloped down to our left as we walked by rows of vines, each branch dripping with full, ripe grapes.

  “Even living here, I don’t know much about wine,” said Dean. “But I like having a glass now and then.”

  I smiled. “Me too. The having a glass now and then part.”

  Dean pointed to the large clusters of red grapes hanging next to the light green leaves. “I guess these will be ready soon.”

  “Pretty soon.” I cradled a bunch of grapes before gently letting them return to their place on the vine. “Probably next month. The thicker-skinned grapes always get picked last.” I noticed Dean watching me. “What?”

  “Nothing. But I can see you really care about this. Both the grapes and the wine. You clearly love it.”

  I nodded. “I do. I started working in restaurants when I was twenty-three and then gradually gained sommelier duties until I became a full-time sommelier three years ago.”

  “And you started right out of college?”

  “Not quite …” My voice trailed off. “I had a small detour first, but then I knew wine was the right choice for me. I’v
e always loved the idea of wine since I was little.”

  “Wine, even when you were a kid?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

  I laughed. “Not exactly. My mom would come home from a long day at work and have a glass of red wine. I’d sit next to her and have cranberry juice in a smaller version of a glass like hers. I guess that’s where it all started. Add in a couple of summers on my uncle’s winery in France and here I am.”

  “I bet your mom’s proud.” Dean’s arm brushed up against my shoulder as we walked.

  “She passed away.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.” I glanced at Dean as heat flushed my cheeks. “I don’t share that wine story a lot. Usually I give the generic story of watching the I Love Lucy episode when she squashed the grapes.”

  Dean gave a hearty laugh. “I’ve seen that one.”

  “Yeah.” I rested my hand on the trellis wire of the last row before the dirt road separated one vineyard from the next. “I’ve always wanted to stomp grapes, but there hasn’t been an opportunity yet. But one day.” I looked across the rows and then back to the winery, where a tall man wearing a cowboy hat entered through one of the back doors. “There’s Alan. I met him at the party. He’s the head winemaker.”

  “Let’s go talk to him.”

  “Good luck with that. He’s a man of few words.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I nudged Dean. “I’ll be impressed if you get more than five words.”

  Dean looked at me with a smile on his face. “Is that a dare?”

  “No, it’s just a prediction.”

  “Interesting.”

  The smell of fermenting grapes became thick in the air as we walked through the winery door. The crime scene tape cordoned off the area around the first fermentation tank, but work had recommenced around it, bringing life and activity to the winery, a stark contrast to the emptiness of the night before.

  Alan crouched in front of a machine with bottles lined up in a long white channel. He maneuvered a screwdriver into the middle of a round mechanism that didn’t seem to want to turn.

  “Sir, I’m Detective Dean. I’m investigating the murder of Mark Plueger.”

  Alan murmured an affirmative noise and continued working on the machine.

  “Can I ask you some questions?”

  Alan repeated the same noise.

  Dean looked at me and I winked. “Alan, what’s wrong with the labeling machine?”

  “Labeling machine?” asked Dean.

  “It sends the bottles through and puts the labels on them,” I replied. “Are you tuning it?” I asked Alan.

  “Broken,” his gravelly voice replied. “Again.”

  Dean crouched down next to Alan and looked at the mechanism, which finally turned with the screwdriver. “Does it break a lot?”

  “Hm hm,” Alan repeated.

  I stepped closer to the machine. “Why not get a new one?”

  “No money.” Alan removed a spring-loaded contraption from the machine and held it up to the light.

  I nodded. “I can understand that. They’re probably expensive.”

  “Nope,” said Alan. “No money.”

  “Wait,” said Dean. “You have no money or the winery has no money?”

  Alan adjusted one of the springs on the contraption in his hand. “Winery.”

  Dean pulled out his notepad and started writing. “Interesting. Is it bankrupt?”

  Alan put the contraption back into the machine. He used the screwdriver to tighten the screw next to the contraption and stood up. “We’ll see about the offers.” Alan plugged the machine into the wall.

  “What offers?” Dean stood next to Alan, trying to make eye contact. Alan looked solely at the machine, making Dean’s efforts futile.

  Dean looked at me. I shrugged.

  Alan clicked the red button and the machine whirled to life. Bottles moved along the line, labels stuck firmly to their fronts.

  “Alan?” Dean tried, but the loud noise of the machine was a clear indication that the conversation was over. Dean motioned to me and we stepped away.

  “I’m impressed. He actually talked.”

  “Yep.” Dean leaned over as if to say something to me, but Seb’s entrance into the winery interrupted his effort.

  Seb wiped his purple-stained hands on a white cloth. He threw the cloth in a wooden crate against the wall, looked at the both of us, turned around, and walked out.

  “Seb, wait.” I rushed through the door to outside. Seb’s mop of brown hair bounced as he walked alongside the winery toward the vineyards. “Seb!”

  He turned around with a feigned look of surprise. “Oh, um, hey.” His eyes drifted over my shoulder to Dean.

  “We were looking for you,” said Dean. “Wanted to ask you some more questions about the party.”

  “Sure,” said Seb as his body rocked slightly back and forth and he tapped his fingers against each other. “What can I help you with?”

  “When was the last time you saw Tessa last night?”

  “Tessa?” He rocked again. “I’m not sure.”

  “Think,” said Dean.

  “Um, I don’t know. Somewhere around the tables, I think. Maybe seven o’clock?”

  “Really?” I replied as Dean shot me a look.

  “Where were you at around seven thirty last night?”

  Seb looked over his shoulder and then back at Dean. “What do you mean? I was at the party. Wasn’t everyone?”

  Dean repositioned his stance. “I know you were at the party, but I want to know exactly where you were.”

  “That’s a little tough to pinpoint. I don’t wear a watch.” Seb held up his bare left arm. His fingers shook and he lowered his arm when he noticed me watching.

  “Okay, if you don’t remember where you were, at least answer me this. Do you remember seeing anyone leaving the party last night? Prior to the discovery of Mark’s body?”

  Seb looked slightly to the left and then back at Dean. “Um, no, I don’t think so. People were supposed to be arriving, not leaving.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Dean. “Think hard. You didn’t see anyone leave?”

  “Detective, it was a party with, um, free alcohol. Do you honestly think people would leave?”

  “Seb,” I interjected, “Tessa said that you were standing in the driveway and saw her drive away. Before Mark’s murder.”

  Seb tilted his head and looked at me, as if studying me for a moment. He glanced over his shoulder before returning his focus to me, staring straight into my eyes. “Huh, I don’t recall that at all.”

  “You don’t remember seeing her leave?”

  “Nope.” His eyes darted back and forth. “Actually, I, um, don’t remember her at the party except when I saw you two at the table at the beginning. Drinking the ’94 Merlot.”

  Dean looked at his notepad. “Tessa said she saw you in the driveway as she drove away.”

  “Huh, must’ve been someone else.” Seb tapped his fingers on his jeans.

  “You were the last one to see Mark alive at seven fifteen,” Dean said. “Where was he when you saw him?”

  Seb motioned to the winery wall near us. “Here. Talking to Vanessa.”

  I looked at Dean and back to Seb. Tessa’s comment went through my mind. “Are you sure it wasn’t Lisa?”

  Seb cocked his head. “Um, no, it was Vanessa. I’m sure of it.”

  “So Vanessa was the last one to see him alive?” I asked.

  “I guess,” Seb said.

  “Why were you watching him?”

  Seb’s eyes went from me to Dean and back again. “I’m an observer, huh. I wasn’t watching him. I happened to notice. Do you, um, have any other questions? Because it’s still work time around here. I could get in a lot of t
rouble talking to you.” He paused. “People, uh, might not look too kindly on the fact that I’m standing around when there’s work to be done.”

  “The owner of the winery was murdered.” I motioned around the area. “Who would get upset at you talking to us?”

  “You’d be surprised.” Seb looked over his shoulder. “Huh, I gotta go. Am I dismissed?”

  “Yes,” replied Dean. “For now.”

  Seb turned on his heels and disappeared around the winery.

  Dean’s cell phone rang and he answered it with a sturdy sounding, “Dean.” He motioned to me to give him a minute and he stepped to the side.

  I wandered alongside the winery to another row of vines whose light green leaves danced in the breeze. The dark purple grapes were plump with juice as the sunlight highlighted them. I lightly placed my hand on a cluster, the skins still cold from the nighttime.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

  I turned to see Jeff standing only a few feet away, his face shadowed by a straw sunhat.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude on your work.”

  “No, it’s fine.” Jeff’s jeans were covered with dirt and grape stains, and he held a small pair of clippers in his left hand. He leaned over to the bunch I had touched and picked from it. He opened his palm toward me, three purple marble-sized grapes rolling around. “Here, try one.”

  I took one from his hand. “Thanks.” I wiped the dust off and popped it in my mouth, squishing it with my tongue. The tart juice ran down my throat.

  “Can you tell what grape it is?”

  I chewed the rest of the grape skin and swallowed. “I’m going to guess Merlot. Am I right?”

  “Nicely done.” Jeff smiled as he pushed the hat away from his face. “Not everyone can do that. I gave one to someone once and asked them what type of grape it was and after a few seconds, they replied ‘red.’”

  “Ha,” I laughed. “Bonus points for creativity.”

  “Yeah.” Jeff popped the remaining two grapes in his mouth. He pointed to the bunches of grapes swaying in the breeze. “Nearly harvest time. We’ll be picking these over the next few weeks.”

  “That sounds fun. My job is serving the wine, but I’d love to be involved in the whole process of where the wine came from. Picking the grapes, stuff like that.”