The back area was now off limits. Cassandra decreed there would be no winemaking tours during the wedding reception. No one was particularly disappointed by the news.
I watched the hustle and bustle trying to pick out the blonde Cassandra in the mix. I edged into the melee. A worker frowned in my direction but he had his hands tangled in clear tubing and was carefully holding it high making sure none of it touched the wet floor.
I picked my way around to the rolling garage doors on the side of the building. The grape truck was parked just outside and workers were tossing handfuls of grape clusters into the maw of a huge machine, the engine overpowered any conversation or even yelling.
I looked up and just above the stainless machine a series of struts and fretwork crossed from the tops of the tanks and extended all the way to the edge of the doors.
They did not look terribly sturdy.
“Can you walk on that?” I asked out loud gazing up at the two by fours.
“Technically, no, but Cassandra is light enough to go up herself. She doesn’t want anyone else to take the risk though.”
I started at his voice.
“Peter Klaussen O’Reilly the Third, what the hell are you doing here?” I blurted out. He may have only heard his name because he didn’t respond to my swearing. We often only hear our name. Like dogs.
Actually, my grudge against O’Reilly was fading. A few months ago, he had saved Ben from false imprisonment and took care of Ben’s family, saving me from considerable embarrassment and awkwardness. I really hadn’t seen him since. O’Reilly had either been laying low or he was working. And now, here he was again, circling around his former girlfriend like the aforementioned dog. He and Cassandra had been together a long time ago, apart for longer. Why come around now? He broke her heart; she hated him, yet here he was.
Peter was dressed casually in that he eliminated the tie from his suit and dress shirt. On his arm hung the ubiquitous girl from the reception. Her skirt and jacket were the same style, but from different dye lots, the navy of the jacket didn’t quite match the navy of the skirt, as if she picked up the pieces from Ross or Marshalls. On different days. She wore closed toed pumps that although stylish, were already showing wear. I hate getting what I pay for too.
She simpered at me. “I’m Beth, I’m going to help Peter here.”
“She’s going to help Cassandra sort out her now,” he held back a sigh, “late paper work. Organization is not one of Cassandra’s strengths.”
“But it is mine.” Beth snuggled closer to Peter.
“They also send up workers on the cat walk to punch down the cap.” Peter wasn’t talking to me.
“I’m sure she sends a light person.” Beth peered around Peter and regarded me, in case I didn’t understand her comment.
I smiled. I was not looking for a job as a cellar rat and I was equally uninterested in Peter Klaussen O’Reilly the Third, so her comment was immaterial. “Taking the VIP tour?”
“Hello!” Cassandra, light and lithe, swung down from the rafters like a pole dancer. She was dressed to work in a white tee shirt spattered with purple juice stains and faded jeans. It was almost the perfect sexy outfit marred only by those horrible rubber clogs my grandmother favors. But I suppose in this slippery environment, there was a need. I never considered shoes in terms of need: only want.
“Hello Cassandra.” I stepped forward. “I’m here to pick up the wine for the shower.”
“This is so exciting.” Beth beat me to Cassandra and wedged herself between us. I automatically took a step back. Beth thrust her hand at Cassandra. “Peter told me all about your success, how well you’re doing here. He couldn’t stop talking about it last night! This is quite an operation! I thought I’d take a look around before I got to work, you caught me!”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes.
Satisfied, Beth returned to O’Reilly’s side and began to stroke his back. He did not respond but stood stiffly as Cassandra glared at him.
“I did want to show off your place to Beth and of course to tell you how impressed I am that you have done all this.” He sounded sincere, but Cassandra clearly didn’t believe his purported sincerity and I didn’t blame her.
“I would love to see how things work around here.” Beth cooed. “This is all so fascinating. And I’m sure I can help you sort out your paperwork.”
Cassandra frowned.
“Remember?” Peter prodded, “I said I’d loan you my
assistant and here she is.”
Cassandra considered the offer, then threw up her hands and acquiesced. “ Jose will show you around.” She called for him in the back and he appeared quickly, the same attractive man with a blinding white smile who had picked up the bodies after the tremor. I wondered how Trisha Gault was fairing, I hadn’t heard or read about her condition. Either the Rivers Bend Press was slacking off or Ms. Gault has some editorial influence. The paper did give Fred front page coverage. I couldn’t even read the article, it was too sad.
Cassandra gestured to the couple. “Can you give them the VIP tour like we discussed?” To the happy couple she explained, “I do ask you two to be careful, we don’t want any more accidents.”
“Would it shut you down if there were more accidents?” Beth asked.
“Damn straight.” Peter muttered, but I don’t think Beth heard.
Jose gestured for them to follow him. Cassandra watched the happy couple troop off to inspect the mechanics and machinations of a real working winery. She seemed edgy, as well she should be, what with a wedding in two weeks, the red still to crush and most of her white destroyed. I felt on edge on her behalf. And I was just hosting the dreaded shower.
“As if he’s never seen how it’s done.” Cassandra put her hands on her hips and watched the couple disappear.
“Maybe Beth is interested.” I did not know how sophisticated Cassandra was in matters of the heart, but Beth was really hamming it up for Cassandra’s benefit. And Peter wasn’t exactly brushing off the girl. I waited for Cassandra to stop gazing at Peter’s back, then reminded her about the wine.
“Sorry. It’s over there.” She pointed to three cases by the far wall and headed back to the huge stemmer/crusher.
I sighed and lifted the first case, at least the bottom wasn’t damp. I balanced the thirty-pound box on my hip and carefully walked back outside to the car. No one stopped me and no one offered to help.
I passed by O’Reilly and his unlikely lady companion. They were quietly watching the last of the grapes get tossed into a stemmer crusher that would efficiently separate out the stems from the grapes and partially crush the grapes. Clear juice, skins and some stems tumbled into big bins for the first fermentation. The skins would give the wine color and eventually fall to the bottom of the barrel or the bin. What was left would be pressed out. The only time you actually stomp grapes is for a promotion or to show off.
Beth stood perfectly still, her eyes followed the process of dumping, turning, grinding. She tiptoed and tried to look over the top of the crusher, but she was too short. One of the workers shooed her away.
“Too dangerous, back, miss, that screw can really mess up your hands.”
Not interested in saving his new love interest from an accidental maiming, O’Reilly wandered away to the stacks of wine barrels that surrounded a long oak table.
I returned to retrieve the second case. Beth paused before each tall stainless steel tank; O’Reilly was standing sort of lost in the center of the warehouse, glancing around as if the coiled tubing would bite him.
“So why are you with Mark’s date?” I approached Peter.
“I actually brought her, then when I left the party, she hooked up with that Mark guy. She said he didn’t mean anything, and I understand Mark and Cassandra are an item.” Peter was glum.
“And you are offering up your cute secretary to help Cassandra because?”
“I was thinking I may still get a rise out of Cassandra, and I did,” he added smugly.
“Just don’t bring her to the wedding.”
“That’s not part of the plan,” he glanced around to find Beth, but she had disappeared.
“Here, make yourself useful,” I took his arm and dragged him to the two boxes of wine. I picked up one and he dutifully grabbed the other and we staggered to my car.
“Peter.”
“Yeah.” He loaded the case into the back of my car, straightened and blinked.
“Just be careful. Beth may have been one of the last people to see Fred alive.”
He nodded. “I don’t think you have to worry about her. The girl is skittish, hates conflict and squirts everything she touches with hand sanitizer before she touches it.”
I knew the type, they turn on faucets with their elbows, open the restroom door with their rumpled paper towel, and lecture you about never placing your purse on the restroom floor because your Dooney and Bourke will be overrun with a convention of germs.
“I was treated to a long lecture on air born pathogens in airplanes on the drive up.”
“Sounds romantic.”
“You take your chances,” he admitted.
I walked Peter back to the winery. I poked my head into the tasting room but Cassandra was nowhere to be seen. “Thank you Cassandra,” I called, but heard no answer.
I phoned Patricia to check in. She had been looking paler than usual, which, for someone who favors white makeup and black eyeliner even on a hot fall day is saying something.
The last time I was in the office Patricia hadn’t even glanced up. She just sat at her desk, head resting on her open palm, listlessly moving her mouse randomly around her huge computer screen.
“What’s wrong?” I had asked.
“Nothing.” She didn’t meet my eyes. “Maybe I’m not feeling well.”
Before I could ask about Marcia, Marcia, Marcia, she abruptly gathered up her purse. “I need to go.” She didn’t even bother to turn off the computer.
I glanced at the site she had up expecting to see the familiar MLS logo. But she was looking at wine sites; specifically Cassandra’s newly launched web site. I saw the barrels and Cassandra on video discussing brix levels. I didn’t see anything out of order. But I’m not as savvy as our receptionist. I squinted at the screen. Cassandra had posted the same video on line that she played for the guests at the winery grand opening. The computer volume was turned down, but I remembered this scene, Cassandra discussed chemistry while various staff members moved around behind her looking industrious. I wondered if she hired extras for that portion of the video. I played the video again. Aside from a terminal case of self-aggrandizement on Cassandra’s part, I could not see that there was anything amiss with the video. I could always call Raul and ask him to take a look.
I considered that as I spoke to Patricia now.
“Have you filed everything for Rosemary?” I quizzed.
“I worked on the MLS for the Friends of Bob house. I’m caught up on everything. Do you want to talk to Rosemary? She’s on floor.”
I reluctantly agreed. At least Patricia was answering the phone.
“Where are you!” Rosemary bellowed into my ear.
“It’s the great shower event today,” I replied. “You know that, I think it’s circled in red on my wall calendar.”
“Oh, say, have you noticed anything peculiar about Patricia?”
“Other than the usual?”
Rosemary paused and dropped her voice. “We’re worried about her. She doesn’t seem her usual self. She forgot to check on my escrow. And she lost the paperwork for Katherine’s short sale.”
“Paperwork is always lost in a short sale,” I pointed out. Even when we send it all through email, people don’t open their mail and they accidentally delete things. The more efficient we get, the more frequent the errors become.
“Yes, but she lost the copies of the copies of the paperwork. But I had a copy of the last set of copies,” she said smugly. This from a woman who once erased the hard drive on her lap top with the magnet bracelets she wore in the name of increased health and vitality.
Thinking of that episode, I ventured, “Maybe her chi is off?” I braced for Rosemary to launch into a long solution involving chi, vapors, night rangers, elves, what have you.
“Katherine thinks something is bothering her. And her aura is very dark.“ Rosemary’s tone was sepulchral.
“Her aura is always dark, she researches murders as a hobby.” I rolled my eyes. It was just one set of lost papers, give the girl a break.
“Yes, but she hasn’t researched anything in over a week,” Rosemary whispered. “We haven’t heard about a single murder in over six days.”
I heard a click. “Inez had to put her on probation,” Katherine chimed in. Was no one working today?
“She could lose her job. What would we do without her?” Both women lamented.
I agreed. I didn’t want to break in a new secretary any more than they did. “I had no idea it was this bad.”
“You’ve been out of town.” They both intoned.
Grandma’s number flashed on my phone.
“Listen. Once I’m done with this wedding, I can help you with Patricia. Don’t let Inez fire her. I may need her for my escrow.” I cut them off and picked up the call from Prue. I didn’t know whether to stand in the driveway and talk or bring in the wine while I clutched the phone to my ear. If I had an ear piece, that would help. But I keep forgetting where I put it.
I settled for the driveway.
Before I could say anything, Prue launched into the doings of Claim Jump.
Prue finished up the saga of the repair of the hole in my floor that apparently was quite involved and included multiple slabs of plywood as well as an additional permit for the sub flooring from the City, with “have you seen Melissa or Debbie?”
“They’re together?”
“Oh Allison, of course not, but no one has seen either woman all day, Melissa missed two appointments with Hospice which is terribly unlike her, and Debbie missed the City Council meeting last night.”
Like Sarah Miller, Melissa was a Claim Jump project. I knew a little about her, she was trapped in an early and now abusive marriage. Her husband rotated in and out of jail and Melissa rotated in and out of the emergency room. Tom once admitted that apprehending, incarcerating and releasing Dick was a whole job security program. One he’d happily forgo. I knew that if Melissa was missing, the police chief was diligently searching. In Debbie’s case, he may have glanced up and down Main Street, but not for longer than five minutes, just for show.
“I’m sure Tom is on the case Prue, why are you worried?”
“Debbie was going to present her findings about the fire to the council last night, she only has five more days to get her signatures and file for her lawsuit, she wouldn’t miss a chance to strong arm a few more signatures.”
Debbie was determined to spearhead a class action suit on behalf of every homeowner who lost their homes in the Red Dog Fire, just a year and a half ago. If she succeeded, Lucky Master’s money, most of it, would be abruptly siphoned out of Claim Jump leaving a lot of local organizations high and dry. The question then was not why didn’t Debbie appear at the council meeting, the question was what Claim Jump resident was enterprising enough to stop her?
“Can you come up?” Prue asked. My call waiting beeped. “Just a second.”
The other caller was Marcia. I winced as I answered.
Marcia, Marcia, Marcia launched into her own agenda with as little regard for pleasantries as my grandmother. I’m fine, thank you for asking. I glanced at Emily’s front door that led directly to the patio. I hadn’t heard a sound since I pulled up. Ben’s truck was gone, Emily could be in the back, or gone. I could stack the wine in Ben’s apartment; I had the key.
“I need a new copy of the Pest report, your signature dips below the signature line and I can’t make out your typed name under the line. Maybe a hard copy as well as the electronic is a good idea. And do
you know you need to have all grounded outlets in the bathrooms? That bathroom downstairs does not have a grounded plug, you many have to replace it or re-wire the first floor. And did you plan to fix that chip in the kitchen counter top?”
“Wow, Marcia.” I inserted my comment into her tirade. “I’m so sorry, I have be out of town on a emergency with a client. I’ll have to get back to you on those issues,” I counted on my fingers. I had two and a half days before the shower. “Three days.”
“Three days!” I clicked off her call in mid protest and transferred back to my grandmother.
“I’ll be right up.”
Chapter 12
September is warm everywhere in California. The season overrides our typical microclimates and everyone, from LA to Tahoe, shares perfect weather.
I happily abandoned the winery, the office, poor Patricia and drove back up to Claim Jump.
Ben called while I was in transit. “I’m missing you. Are you headed back to the house?”
The trees were dusty and just about to turn color. Once the wedding was over, I thought I’d stay in Claim Jump until the November rains. I can’t believe how much of a pull, a desire, to be in this place, and how easily I leave River’s Bend behind.
“I’m headed back, Debbie apparently missed her day at the council.”
“I know. I was there last night.”
“Aren’t you the local already.”
“Just wanted to keep our house on track. The floor is fixed by the way. And I need to take care of a few things in Marin, so I’m heading back down. When are you back?”
“Soon, the shower is this weekend. How is Cassandra doing?” I failed to mention O’Reilly’s hidden agenda, if Ben hadn’t noticed, I wasn’t going to point it out.
Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 04 - Trash Out Page 13
