Clarets of Fire

by Christine E. Blum

  Marisol and I exchanged glances.

  “Then I suggest that we take a guarded approach,” Sally announced.

  “What the hell does that mean?” I poured Peggy more wine because she was getting impatient and cranky.

  “It means that we should take guards with us for protection when approaching them.” Sally gave Peggy the “stink eye.”

  “I was able to slip Brandon’s name into the conversation at supper last night,” Penelope jumped in. “I said that Halsey and he were acquaintances and wasn’t it such a small world. Andrew got really interested in hearing more about you, Halsey, which is odd since he knows very well that you and Jack are planning your wedding at Abigail Rose Winery. Which reminds me, are you two lovebirds coming up tomorrow?”

  I’d almost forgotten. I really need to get my head into these nuptials. “We’ll be there. Around two, correct?”

  “Perfect. Oh, and Andrew didn’t have too terribly much to report on Brandon, just that he had big dreams. Sounded a bit odd to me . . . I’m going to ring off, ladies. Cheers!”

  “Bye, Penelope,” we all chimed in.

  “I didn’t want to risk having Penelope betray a confidence to Andrew, so now that she’s gone I have one more important piece of news on this case.”

  “Spit it out, girl!” Peggy shouted, and Marisol slowly released some cheesecake from her mouth.

  “Okay, Peggy, you all remember Jack’s friend Mark who is with the DEA?” I had their attention. “It seems that there was a safe in the drugstore that disappeared after the fire, and it contained mostly opioid drugs for special prescriptions. It was there before the fire but not after, and it was built to withstand a very hot fire.”

  “Well that sweetens the pot. Do you think that somehow Andrew is mixed up in this, Halsey?”

  “I have no reason to, but until we know how close a friendship he has with Brandon I figured that it was better to be safe than sorry.”

  “Good thinking, girl.” Sally took her plate to the kitchen. I know how much she loves my cheesecake, so I’m betting that without a plate she would be less tempted to go for a second slice. My galley kitchen was small but very serviceable to me. It had an old, glass electric stove top that worked really well, and the best news was that I had a double oven. Neither was terribly large, but each had its own temperature settings, and especially around Thanksgiving it was perfect for cooking a bird on top and keeping the sides warm below.

  “These things are boring. I’m going to watch baseball,” Marisol announced, leaving.

  “I should head out too . . . you’ve inspired me to try out some new baking recipes, Halsey.” Aimee stood and made an unselfconscious big stretch that separated her tank top from her leggings, exposing a pleasingly plump belly. Aimee loved food and she loved consuming it.

  “Thanks for the wine, Aimee.”

  Peggy started to stand, but I put my hand on her arm.

  “Looks like there’s enough for two more glasses, Peggy.” I held the bottle up to the light.

  She acquiesced and we waited for the front door to close.

  I was about to clue her in on the address that Marisol had given me for the strip mall owners but wanted to clear something up first. “You seem a little uptight today, Peggy. Is everything okay? You and Charlie getting along?”

  “We’re fine, everything’s fine.”

  I looked at her.

  “Really. Just the little aches and pains of a woman of my age in the colder months.”

  Peggy never talked about getting old, so it made my stomach sink. “You’d tell us if it was anything serious, right?”

  “Of course I would. Don’t you have a wedding to plan?” She said this with a smile and gave me a hug before leaving.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if Peggy was telling me the truth.

  Chapter Nine

  The drive up the Pacific Coast Highway on this glorious late September Saturday was indeed a slice of heaven. Overnight a cool front had moved in dropping the temperature to the high sixties and giving me an excuse to wear long sleeves. I opted for a black and white French sailor shirt, black Capris, and white sneaks.

  Jaunty but refined.

  Jack and I were headed to the Abigail Rose Winery to talk to Malcolm and Penelope about hosting our wedding there. They categorically refused to let us pay for anything beyond out-of-pocket expenses, which doesn’t set well with either of us.

  But I am working on a robust website for them with everything from venue videos to special events to wine ordering and real-time inventory tracking. Jack has a very special surprise for Malcolm and Penelope—one he had been working on for five weeks.

  This union that I’d been evading for almost three years was finally on its way to becoming a reality. I should explain. My foot dragging has nothing to do with Jack. I love him deeply and I couldn’t ask for a better guy. He is kind, funny, smart, cute as hell, and sexy. It is the marriage part that I continue to have trouble with.

  You see this will be my second time around. The first happened when I was way too young, and I naively fell in love with love rather than the man. I think that I knew during the honeymoon that the marriage wasn’t going to work, but I hate being a quitter. So instead I kept trying to fix the marriage, which in New York City is quite the challenge. You can’t just buy him a new grill and an apron with THE BIGGEST WIENER IS NOT ON THE BBQ printed on it. We didn’t have the money to redo the apartment to “our taste.” But mostly I wanted to work on making a life for us while he was perfectly happy with his own life just the way it was. Don’t get me wrong, when I realized that this was like watering a dead plant, I showed my displeasure in distinctly Halsey ways. I’d been to an all girls’ Catholic high school and had learned from the best of them.

  One week after being on the receiving end of constant criticism from him, I had a big box of Krispy Kremes sent to his Friday creative meeting. I knew that he’d show off how much he was loved to the group. On the inside lid of the box I had written in big letters YOU DO NOT COMPLETE ME. And I’d taken one bite out of each of the dozen donuts. Soon after I was “Halsey, the young divorcée.”

  I knew that this time around it was totally different, but to quote Wham! In “Last Christmas,” I was “once bitten and twice shy.”

  I looked over at my amber-eyed redwood of a man and saw that he was grinning from ear to ear while he drove. That made me smile. I saw his right eye move ever so slightly in my direction.

  “One, two, or three?” he asked me.

  The sound of his voice sent Bardot into an excited whine. We were in Jack’s massive truck that had crates in the back to transport dogs. In addition to Bardot, Clarence—his giant schnauzer—was also along for a day in the country.

  “Don’t make me come back there,” I yelled, which only escalated my dog’s vocal emissions.

  “Psst,” Jack said softly, and silence was restored to the vehicle.

  “How do you do that?”

  “You have to answer my question first: one, two, or three?”

  “One, two, or three what, Jack?”

  “Kids!”

  I groaned.

  “You are aware that I turned thirty-eight this year?”

  “Then we’d better get crackin’.”

  “Dear God,” I said, but deep down the thought gave me a warm feeling.

  * * *

  When we turned off PCH, the din of traffic disappeared and we were moving in the midst of a wooded, verdant hillside and valley. The road up the hill was crudely paved but organic to the surrounding atmosphere that included a man-made stone wall that lined the twists and turns that led us to Abigail Rose Winery.

  Of course we’d been here for Malcolm and Penelope’s wedding, but there was so much going on that day I’m afraid that the details and nuances of the spectacular location have been lost from my memory.

  “Can you slow down, Jack?”

  “You’re not squeamish around switchbacks, are you?”

  “No, I wa
nt to breathe in this gorgeous scenery, including you on a leisurely drive.”

  That got him and we slowed down, and he opened all the windows so the sweet air could waft through the moving vehicle. Around us on all sides were rows and rows of green-leafed grapevines, and I wondered where another vineyard ended and Malcolm and Penelope’s began. Since the grapes were planted on stepped hillsides, I can only imagine the backbreaking work that was required all through the growing process. Penelope had mentioned that they were bringing in some thirty day-laborers for the harvest.

  When this hill crested to a flat drive the winery came into view, and we pulled into a gravel lot and parked under the cool shade of a massive oak tree. I got out and wished that we had taken my car instead of Jack’s conspicuous truck, but we had precious cargo on board.

  Jack got out on his side, and we heard a cooing sound coming from the main entrance that overlooked the valley all the way down to Malibu Lake.

  “You’re here . . . welcome!” Penelope said, coming down the steps from the large, arched heavy-wooded door to the winery.

  “Hello to you,” I said, embracing her. Jack joined in on the hug.

  “Malcolm will be by presently. He’s just washing up from inspecting the fields. Shall we have a glass of wine on the patio, yes? It won’t be too cold for you?”

  “You guys are such weather wimps.” Jack laughed.

  “Come, we’ve mended this stone patio to the side here and set out some mission tables and chairs. I’ve got a claret that I’d love for you to sample.”

  “Is it okay if I let the dogs out to ramble around? Clarence will make sure that Bardot sticks to one bunch of grapes, I promise.”

  “Of course, Jack, this place is heaven for dogs.”

  Jack and I smiled at each other. We watched him open the big double doors at the back of his truck and then the doors to two heavy-duty crates that the dogs ride in for safety. Clarence, the giant schnauzer, appeared first, hopped down, and sat at attention watching for Jack to give further direction. Bardot took a flying leap out, raced around, sniffed, peed, and then joined Clarence in a sit/stay.

  I’d give her a C+ for execution and an A for creativity.

  “Who let the dogs out? Woof, woof, woof, woof.” Malcolm sauntered out, gave Penelope and then me a peck on the cheek, and settled at the patio table.

  I never thought I’d see the day when Malcolm was singing, let alone Bahamian Junkanoo.

  We watched Jack release the hounds from their sitting stance. Bardot was the first to sprint off around the flat top mesa above the hillside of grapevines. Graceful and elegant, Clarence followed, his long legs helping him catch up to her quickly. They played a little “stop and dodge,” marked the same spot one after the other, and scampered down the hill.

  Jack returned to the table. He’d left the back door to the truck open to air it out. As he sat down we heard a soft whimper.

  “So this is the claret we’ve been hearing about all summer.” Jack took a long sniff and then rolled a sip around in his mouth.

  “Claret is a British term used, unofficially, in reference to red Bordeaux wine. I decided to try this in honor of my English rose, Penelope. The red wines of Bordeaux are blends, mostly based on cabernet sauvignon and merlot,” Malcolm explained.

  “Wait, so the grapes that went into this came from France?” I was confused.

  “No, love, they were grown right here.”

  She held up her glass to the sunlight, making the deep red liquid a slight bit transparent, and swirled the elixir gently in her glass.

  Malcolm helped Penelope out. “Technically this has been made in the style of Bordeaux, meaning that we used a blend of Cabernet, Malbec, and Syrah grapes. We made a small batch with the grapes that were here when we purchased the winery, but this year will be our first full harvest. We’ll be able to offer Cabs, Malbec, and of course, more of this.” Malcolm raised his glass in another toast.

  “If you’ve ever watched Downton Abbey, you’d notice that us Brits have a long history of calling anything red ‘claret.’”

  “Whatever you call it, this is absolutely delicious!” I declared, and Jack nodded effusively.

  “Thank you . . . that’s a relief to hear. We’re still bottling the rest of this harvest to make room for the new one. They love the wine,” Malcolm shouted to Andrew as he appeared on the patio.

  “How much did you ply them with before they said that?” Andrew asked, shaking Jack’s hand and then leaning in to give me a peck on the cheek. He sat down and poured himself a glass.

  We’ve barely met . . .

  “No, really, you guys have a winner here.” I’ve never seen Jack happier.

  “Halsey, have you had a tour of the vineyards since you were last here? Well over a year ago according to Malcolm.” Andrew stood up ready to whisk me away.

  “Maybe later we can all go, Andrew,” Penelope said with a bit of a hard edge to her voice. “Jack and Halsey are here to plan their wedding with us.”

  Andrew looked from her to me, and I tilted my engagement ring until it caught the sun and set off a nova-size starburst.

  “Yes, of course. Just let me know when. Do I hear some animal crying?”

  Jack looked at me and I nodded.

  “Yes, you do, and it is coming from my truck. Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

  Penelope looked at me, smiled, and shrugged her shoulders in anticipation. I took a minute to drink in my beautiful surroundings. A light breeze wafted over us coming from the ocean. The winery main house sat atop a medium-size hill and looked out in all directions to similar vineyards of varying heights and expanses. It was like looking at undulating corduroy with soft green ribs. I was both relaxed and excited at the thought of saying our “I dos” here.

  “You’re going to let us see the creature, aren’t you, Jack?” she called out.

  “Even better, Penelope, I’m going to let you hold her.”

  Jack reappeared from inside the back of the truck carrying a black ball of fluff.

  “Wow,” Malcolm exclaimed.

  “What is this adorable little beast and what is his or”—Penelope paused for further inspection—“her name?”

  “That’s for you two to decide. Jack wanted to show you how much we appreciate being able to hold our wedding here, and he’s been saying from day one that you need a dog or three to protect the winery.”

  The pup took instantly to Penelope and began licking her and whimpering. That sent Bardot and Clarence racing back to us.

  “As you can see, I have worked with giant schnauzers a lot.”

  “Jack, are you saying that this little thing is going to turn into that?”

  “Precisely, Malcolm, maybe even bigger. Psst,” Jack uttered, and Bardot and Clarence lay down quietly. “This breed was developed in Germany to drive cattle and later to serve as guard dogs at the breweries. They went on to become excellent trained police dogs but didn’t catch on in the States because we had already adopted the German shepherd.”

  They all stared in awe at Jack. I noticed that Bardot, try as she might, was getting distracted by something in the air.

  “What Jack hasn’t told you is that he’s spent the past five weeks working with her, teaching her the basic commands and more, housebreaking her and getting all her puppy vet procedures done.”

  “I’ll be coming back to keep working with her and more importantly with you all to make this an awesome relationship. She’s already a fabulous dog.”

  I was so proud of Jack.

  With all this going on I almost didn’t notice Bardot sneak out of position and circle around the back of us on the patio.

  “This is so cool, a far cry from that mutt that lived with us when we were kids . . . what was his name, Malc?”

  Malcolm looked at Andrew and I could see that they were both trying to remember.

  “Was it Roni? Like Rice-a-Roni?” Malcolm asked.

  “That’s it.” Andrew clapped his hands loudly.


  That attracted Bardot’s attention and she raced over to him for some exploratory sniffing.

  “The obvious thing to name her would be Rose,” Penelope said, letting Malcolm have a chance at some sloppy kiss bonding.

  “How about Malibu Rose?” Malcolm suggested, giggling at the dog’s attention.

  “Perfect!” I said after seeing that Penelope agreed.

  “Hey, you’re going to need to buy me dinner before you continue doing that,” Andrew said to Bardot, only half joking.

  Bardot had her nose buried halfway up Andrew’s jeans leg. I’d never seen her act this badly, and I wondered if the presence and all the attention on the new puppy had made her jealous.

  “Bardot,” Jack said calmly but when she didn’t stop, he gave her a more forceful “PSST!”

  She finally came up for air. But not before she had thoroughly embarrassed Jack and myself.

  Chapter Ten

  I dreamed of long dresses and bountiful bouquets of flowers, letting the most perfect wedding scenario play out in my mind. In the dream even Bardot was on her best behavior.

  We slept in late Sunday morning and after some coffee and eggs, Jack suggested that we take the dogs up to the CARA testing area for some drills. I could have gone right back to bed and watched the Halloween marathon on TV, but I thought again about Bardot’s strange behavior and figured that this would be a good chance to set her straight—that I’m boss.

  Who am I kidding?

  CARA had access to some ten acres of land in the Santa Monica Mountains for training dog/handler teams so that the pair can ultimately pass their certification to become accredited rescue teams. I’d watched Jack conduct exercises often up here and still marvel at the way he can work with dogs and how well both parties in a team can be trained. It is a noble service, but, as smart as Bardot is, I’m afraid that we will never make it to the major leagues. Jack doesn’t believe that . . . he knows what Bardot can do. Which leaves us with who is really dragging down the team: me. It seems that I can only be trained so much, which is fine with me.

  “Let’s work with Bardot on a long leash for a while,” Jack suggested after we’d unloaded some gear. “This is perfect because there are lots of other distractions around her—dogs, people, and toys. It’s your job to keep her totally focused on you, Halsey.”