by Penny Warner
I took in the presidential room, along with the hearty aroma of wine. Along the marble walls behind the bars hung huge paintings of former governors, including Edmund G. Brown and his son, Jerry, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Ronald Reagan, and, of course, Dennis Brien. At the back wall, a large mural interpreted the wine country’s history, with scenes of growers, pickers, stompers, all the way to wine tasters, painted in a Diego Rivera style. A sign over the mural read, “The West Wing.” Did Dennis have aspirations at one time to become president of the United States? Or had he just declared himself president of his own land?
The ex-governor himself was holding court behind the bar on the left, while his young, attractive wife, KJ, hosted the one on the right. Apparently the Briens believed in mixing with the commoners, I thought, as Mother and I wormed our way in between a couple of tasters at Dennis’s bar. Unlike his staff, Dennis wore a white shirt and gray pants. I listened as he gave his sales pitch to a foursome of tasters.
“Two out of every three bottles sold in the U.S. are from California,” Dennis told a mustached man who was sniffing his small glass of red wine. “Here in the Napa Valley, we offer everything from world-famous mass-market wines to small family-owned boutique vineyards. It’s the temperature here—warm days, cool nights—that allows the grapes to ripen slowly, maturing the tannins and balancing the acids. Our award-winning cabernets are handcrafted, organic, and available at a discount through our wine club.” Sounding like an infomercial, he finally finished his canned spiel and poured more wine into the empty glasses.
“Any trouble with wine pests?” I asked, before he said anything more about tannins and acids and other terms that made no sense to me.
Dennis’s salesman smile drooped when he recognized me.
“Ms. Parker. So nice to see you again.” As if by magic, the smile instantly reappeared.
“Beautiful winery, Dennis,” I said. “Please, call me Presley.”
Still smiling, he dropped his voice to nearly a whisper as he leaned in and spoke to me. “What are you doing here?”
“Just thought I’d drop by and see the place while Rob’s at the police station.” The dig was deliberate.
Dennis shot a look around the customers—plastic smile still frozen on his face—and held up a hand as if to quiet me.
“Are you usually this busy?” I asked.
“Not this late on a Sunday, no. But business is business, you know.”
“Have you heard from Rob?” I asked. Mother patted my shoulder, then wandered away to look at the wine accessories displayed on tables throughout the tasting room.
“No. Have you?” Dennis picked up a clean wineglass and set it in front of me.
“Not yet. I was on my way to the Christophers’ and figured I’d stop by here first.”
Dennis pulled a cork out of an opened bottle and poured a third of a glass of red liquid. “Poor guy. Hope he’s okay.” I didn’t see an iota of feeling behind those words.
“I don’t suppose you have any idea who might have killed JoAnne?” I asked, holding the stem of the wineglass between two fingers while trying to sound as if I were discussing the clarity of the drink and not a dead body.
Dennis glanced around again, obviously worried about being overheard. He ducked under the bar. “Josh, take over for me, will you?” he said to a twentysomething guy. “Presley, why don’t you come to my office. We can talk there.”
I glanced over at KJ, who had stopped in the middle of a pour and was eyeing us. Before I left the tasting room, I swung by Mother, who was at a nearby gift table, and told her I’d be right back and not to leave the premises.
Dennis led me down the hall to a large room that looked like the Oval Office in the White House. A wooden desk was flanked by two flags—one representing the United States, the other the state of California. It sat at the far side of an oval rug, a replica of the original, in red, white, and blue. On the side walls were old war-time political posters that read, “We Can Do It!” and “Uncle Sam Wants You!” I’d always loved the one of the woman in a red polka-dotted headscarf and blue jumpsuit with her biceps curled. Nancy Drew in overalls.
While Dennis commanded the chair behind his desk, I sat down in an Eames chair opposite him. “This is better,” he said. “A little more private. I don’t like discussing personal things in front of the tasters. Not good for business.”
It was all about business for Dennis Brien, I thought. “Sorry about that. I’m just trying to find out who killed JoAnne, since it happened at my party. That’s not good for business either. Any ideas?”
“Funny you should ask about wine pests. JoAnne was certain that I had wine pests in my vineyard. Frankly, I considered her more dangerous than that phylloxera louse that wiped out hundreds of acres of grapes years ago.”
Dennis opened a side drawer of his massive desk and pulled out a bottle of unlabeled dark red wine. From a side table he extracted two sparkling glasses and set them in front of him. Apparently his office doubled as his own private tasting room. Using a corkscrew, he opened the bottle, poured half a glass of the red wine in each glass, then pushed one over to me.
“Try this. It’s the one we’re most excited about. A blend of cabernet and merlot. I call it the Governor’s Caberlot.”
I held up the glass by the stem, trying to remember everything—anything—that Rocco had taught me. First I smelled it—I mean, I inhaled the bouquet. Then I swirled the liquid and examined the clarity. Finally I took a sip, swished it a moment in my mouth, and counted five seconds before swallowing. But after all I’d learned about wine tasting, I simply said, “Yum!” and took in a second, larger mouthful. By my own standards, I would have called it “very drinkable.”
Dennis smiled as if I were a child tasting candy for the first time. “Glad you like it. It’s going to sell for a hundred and eighty dollars a bottle.”
I nearly choked. I’d just downed thirty bucks’ worth! What the hell. I took another large swallow, then pushed the glass over, indicating I wanted a refill. Dennis poured another half glass, obliging quickly, and I wondered if he was trying to get me drunk so I’d stop being a wine pest.
Speaking of which, I said, “Back to JoAnne. Any idea who killed her?”
“Heavens, no. KJ and I hardly knew the woman. After all, we’re pretty green here at the Governor’s Mansion Winery, in terms of protecting the environment.”
“But she thought you had wine pests?” I asked, remembering what he’d said.
“Like I said, she was the pest. Always checking to see if everything was up to her standards. There’s a creek on our property that empties into the Napa River. That woman was down there every week checking the water.”
“Did she ever find anything?”
“No, of course not. But that didn’t stop her from snooping. She said if she found anything, anything at all, she’d sue me and have the winery shut down. She even threatened to have the state auditor come in. But she never caught us…I mean, you know…there was never anything for her to catch.”
His face looked flushed. From the wine? Or the slip of the tongue?
“What I meant to say was, we’ve all become greener here in the valley. I, personally, use solar panels, biodiesel-fueled tractors, and organic farming. We’re working toward going carbon-neutral in the next few years or so. There was really nothing for her to be worried about.”
I heard a knock at the door.
“Come in!” Dennis commanded, ever acting the part of governor.
A young woman dressed like the other staff members, in black with the Cal bear shirt, stepped in. Attractive, blond, also in her twenties, she frowned at Dennis with concern.
“What is it, Julie?” Dennis asked, sounding irritated at the intrusion. His face grew redder—from the wine or the winsome girl’s appearance? I’d noticed most of the young women who worked here were blond and attractive. And politicians weren’t exactly known for their monogamous behavior.
Julie stepped in and handed a fo
lded piece of paper to Dennis. He took the note, opened it, read it quickly, and then frowned. The blush on his face drained completely, leaving his complexion a pasty white. This man’s face was like an open book.
“Thank you, Julie,” he said evenly, dismissing her. She backed out and closed the door. Dennis reread the note, pulled open his top desk drawer, put the note inside, and closed the drawer.
“Everything all right?” I asked, probing. Obviously it wasn’t.
“Yes, fine. Well, if there isn’t anything else, I need to make some phone calls—”
He laid his hands on the desk, preparing to dismiss me, but after seeing his reaction to that note, I wasn’t ready to go.
“You’ve been very helpful, Dennis.” I reached over as if to shake his hand and deliberately knocked over his glass of wine with the back of my hand. The “Caberlot” mash-up splattered the front of his white shirt.
He looked as if he’d been shot in the chest.
“Oh my God!” I said, rising. “I’m so sorry! I’ve ruined your shirt!”
He stood up, pulling the front of his shirt out as if to air it. “No problem. I’ve got others.”
Before he could escort me out of the office, I picked up my purse and spilled the contents onto the floor.
“Oh goodness!” I said. “What a klutz I am today. Please, go ahead and change your shirt. I’ll just pick up my stuff and get out of your hair.”
He hesitated, then said, “You know your way out?” He looked torn between leaving me alone in the office and getting changed into a fresh shirt. I knelt down to retrieve my stuff and waved him on. With a last look, he exited through a door on the other side of the room.
I waited half a second, then tiptoed around the desk and opened the top drawer. If I got caught snooping, I could always say I was under the influence and was looking for a refill…
I pulled out the note, opened it, and read the contents:
“Call Allison. Urgent!”
Urgent? Allison? What was up with that?
I put the note back, closed the drawer, dashed back to my purse where it lay on the floor, and finished gathering my stuff.
“You still here?” Dennis said from behind me, startling me. He was tucking in a fresh white shirt.
“That was quick!” I said, cramming the last of my personal things into my purse.
“I have a private bathroom right next door. I keep emergency supplies there. You wouldn’t believe how many times I get wine on my shirts.”
I stood up, purse intact. “Again, sorry about that.” My cell phone ringtone sounded from within my purse. “Excuse me,” I said, reaching for it. “It may be something about Rob.”
Dennis nodded solemnly as he moved around the desk and poured himself more wine. He downed it so quickly, I wondered if he even tasted it that time.
“Hello?”
“Presley, this is Rocco.”
“Rocco! Are you still in town?”
“Yeah, I stayed with my sister last night. I wanted to hang around and see about Rob and check on Marie.”
“Have you heard anything more? I’ve been trying to call Marie but she isn’t picking up. I don’t have Allison’s phone number, or Javier’s. I’d like to know what’s going on.”
“That’s why I’m calling,” Rocco said. I felt a heat wave envelope my body that wasn’t caused by the wine I’d drunk.
“Uh-oh. What’s happened?”
I could feel Dennis’s eyes on me as I listened.
“Rob’s been officially charged with the murder of JoAnne Douglas.”
“Oh my God. On what evidence?”
“They found his fingerprints on the corkscrew. And they discovered JoAnne’s missing shoe. It was under his bed. With his fingerprints on it.”
“You’re kidding! Rocco, do you think he did it?”
“Gina said Rob wouldn’t hurt a wine moth.”
“Then how does she explain the fingerprints?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dennis lean forward. He was obviously trying to hear Rocco’s end of the conversation. I turned away.
“That’s what I was hoping you might do,” Rocco said. “Help explain all this. You’re good at that. And Gina swears he didn’t do it.”
Unfortunately, I didn’t know Rob well, not like Gina knew him. I had to take her word for his innocence. Rob certainly would have gained by JoAnne’s death. No more threats of lawsuits. No more harassment. No more embarrassing appearances. Not to mention no more mousse-in-the-face antics. But was it enough to provoke murder?
To someone, it might have been.
But if not Rob, then who?
“Okay, Rocco. I’m at the Briens’ winery, just down the hill from the Purple Grape. I’ll be there in a few minutes and we can figure out what to do.”
“Actually, I’m not at the Purple Grape. I’m at the hospital.”
“Hospital? Why? Are you sick? Did something happen?”
“No, no, I’m fine. It’s Marie.”
Marie! “Nervous collapse? From all the stress?”
Rocco was silent for a moment, sending another wave of heat through me.
“No, Presley. Marie took an overdose of pills. They think she tried to kill herself.”
Was that why Allison had made that urgent call to Dennis?
Chapter 13
PARTY-PLANNING TIP #13
Decanting the wines for your party is an important part of the tasting experience. Open young wines several hours before the event so they can “breathe,” and pour quickly to expose the wine to air. For older wines, open just before serving and pour slowly, so deposits at the bottom won’t cloud the color. If it’s box wine, you don’t have to worry about decanting…
I stared at my phone after Rocco hung up, stunned at the news he’d just relayed.
Rob had actually been arrested for the murder of JoAnne Douglas.
And his wife, Marie, was in the hospital after trying to commit suicide.
All this happening while I’d been out playing bingo and tasting wine. Guilt swept over me like a spray of pesticides, and I felt woozy from the shocking news—or was it from all the wine I’d been “tasting”?
“What’s wrong?” Dennis said. He reached over and held my arm. “You look as if you’re about to faint.”
“I’m fine…,” I said, waving away his hand. “It’s Rob…he’s been officially arrested.”
“Whoa,” Dennis said. “The police have enough evidence to charge him?”
I nodded, still numb. “And Marie…she’s in the hospital.”
“What?” he said. “How…what happened?”
I met his eyes; his were filled with concern.
“Rocco said she took an overdose of pills.”
“God, no.” He shook his head in disbelief. “She tried to commit suicide? Poor Marie.”
“I have to go,” I said, shaking off the numbness, and headed for the open office door.
“Does Allison know?” came Dennis’s voice behind me.
Allison? I suddenly remembered the note I’d read that was tucked in his desk drawer. The one that said, “Call Allison. Urgent!” I turned back to Dennis and said, “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?” I left him standing openmouthed in his office and went in search of my mother.
I panicked when I didn’t see her perusing the knickknacks for sale around the tasting room, but thanks to an alert staff member who’d spotted her leaving, I found her outside, looking down into a nearby pond and breaking off bits of a gourmet cracker for the few ducks that floated about.
“Mallards. Aren’t they beautiful?” she said when she saw me. “You usually see them in pairs. The male is the prettier one, with the bright green feathers. The female is that plain brown one. They pair up in the fall and stay together until spring, when the female lays her eggs. Then the male takes off and fools around with other females who are unattached. Typical.”
Mother could tell you anything you wanted to know about animals, but she could
n’t remember the names of my three cats. Such was the insidious disease of Alzheimer’s.
“Mother, we have to go. Something has happened and we need to get back to the Purple Grape.”
“What is it, Presley?”
She quickly crumbled the rest of her cracker into the pond and brushed off her hands. I filled her in as we walked back to the car, hoping the news wouldn’t upset her too much. But to my surprise, she took it matter-of-factly. “Well, we’ve got to hurry, then, so we can help Marie when she comes home from the hospital.”
Ten minutes later we pulled up to the Purple Grape. To my relief, Brad’s Crime Scene Cleaners SUV was already there. Thank God, I thought as I helped Mother out of the car. We hurried up the path through the garden area and around the crime scene tape to the front door and entered without knocking. I heard voices and followed the sound to the kitchen, where I found Brad talking with Rocco.
Rocco looked disheveled in his jeans and white CCC collared T-shirt. The wisps of hair on either side of his balding head were mussed and part of his shirt was untucked. He held a cup of coffee in both hands.
“Did you tell him?” I asked Rocco, then looked at Brad in his Crime Scene Cleaners jumpsuit, his rubber gloves sticking out of one of the pockets, to see if there was any sign he’d heard the news. I knew by his frown and pressed lips that Rocco had indeed filled him in.
“You all right?” Brad asked me as he came to my side. He glanced at my mother.
“I’m fine. So glad you’re here.” I would have kissed him, but it just wasn’t the time. I turned to Rocco. “Have you heard from Rob? Or Kyle?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
“What happened?” Mother asked, looking bewildered. Had she forgotten what I’d told her, or was she just asking for details?
