by Meera Lester
As the music started up again, Abby tucked the paper of verses into her coat pocket, stepped down from the lectern platform, and walked back to her seat. She took a tissue from her purse and gently rubbed her itchy skin, eventually finding a modicum of relief. She decided to take an antihistamine as soon as the vow exchange ended, but for now she’d just have to endure the itchiness.
The priest spoke about the sanctity of marriage and Paola and Jake’s renewed commitment to each other. He asked everyone to raise their hands toward the couple as he said a prayer and administered a final blessing. When it came time for the kiss, Jake took his wife into his arms, and at that moment the heavy church door creaked open.
Kat and Abby turned their heads at the same time to see who’d arrived so late. The stranger appeared to be in her early thirties. Highlighted blond tresses in a boyish cut accentuated her youthful features. She wore a dark coat dress and silver pendant earrings.
Abby searched out Eva and Luna, Paola’s sisters, to see if they recognized the pretty stranger. They were occupied with shushing their rambunctious daughters, both preschoolers. Next, she sought Paola’s mother and father, seated on the other side of the church. They had flown in from Argentina for the occasion. They sat beaming approvingly at their daughter and Jake. Okay, so they hadn’t noticed the late arrival, either. Jake’s parents were no-shows, remaining in Hawaii for their much-needed vacation after finishing the grape harvest. John Winston II, Jake’s grandfather, who never ventured far from his beloved winery, sat alone in the first row, hunched over, perhaps absorbed in reading the missal. Abby stole another look at the woman, who’d slipped into a seat at the back of the church.
Kat leaned in and whispered, “You think our stranger belongs to the bride’s party or the groom’s?”
“My money is on Jake,” Abby answered.
When the service had ended, Abby followed Kat out of her seat and down the center aisle. They fell in step behind others who followed the couple and the priest. The young woman apparently had left.
“I hope they have plenty of chilled bubbly, some great dance music, and some good-looking guys up at the winery,” said Kat. “I’m ready to party. Mind if we take your Jeep?”
“Well, sure. But why not just call it like it is? You want me to be the designated driver.”
“Well, of course I do,” Kat replied with a sheepish grin. “Unless you can’t see out of that eye,” she said. “Riding with a one-eyed driver could be hazardous to my health.”
“Really, Kat. Let me reassure you that I can see and drive perfectly well, thank you very much. So, let’s go.”
Abby walked in lockstep with Kat behind a statuesque platinum blonde with a butterfly tattoo on her neck, below her upswept do; a thin woman with chestnut-colored hair; and a twentysomething with a long yellow-blond braid. These three women fell in step behind others filing toward the church doors. Abby wondered how many of the attractive ladies present had come to see for themselves that the man they’d known as a charmer was out of the game for good. As a man and a woman argued, their voices rose above the din of friendly banter among the guests.
“Holy crap,” said Abby. “Surely that’s not Jake and Paola going at it already?”
Kat stretched up on her tiptoes in her suede ankle boots. “Can’t see a darn thing.”
Outside, on the church steps, they encountered the argument in full swing.
“You bastard. You killed her,” shrieked the woman in the dark coat dress and silver earrings.
“You know better than that,” bellowed Jake. “Your sister wrapped her car around a tree on Highway Nine. And let us not forget, she was twice over the limit.”
“You broke her heart with your lies. You were never going to leave your wife. That ridiculous ceremony I just witnessed proves it.” After turning to address Paola, the woman shrieked, “I pity you if you think it meant anything to him. He isn’t going to change. And if you believe he is, you deserve each other.”
“Go home, Gina,” Jake told her.
“And what . . . ? Grieve?” Tears streaked Gina’s face. Her eyes had a smoldering, heavy-lidded look. She lunged at Jake. He threw his arms up in defense as she smacked him with her purse. “I hate you. Hate you,” she screamed.
Emilio and the other men in his family pulled Gina away from Jake. Paola’s sisters walked Paola backward into the sheltering huddle of her family. Tears swam in the dark eyes of the truffle maker. Her expression bore a tortured look.
A struggling Gina blubbered, “Your family celebrates? Celebrates? While mine grieves? You’re evil, Jake Winston. Evil. You will pay for what you’ve done.” After twisting free from the men’s grips, she spat at Jake and ran off into the misting rain.
“Let her go,” said Father Joseph.
“Whatever!” Jake stormed down the front steps and walked toward Paola’s blue Ford Escort.
A hunk of jet-black hair fell from behind Emilio Varela’s ear to eclipse his cheek as he hurried to embrace Paola. After the hug from her big brother, she retreated into the church with the priest, and Emilio addressed the guests.
“Listen up. We have chilled champagne and hot hors d’oeuvres, and to follow, a sit-down dinner with fine wine. It would be a shame to waste it. So what are we waiting for?” Emilio seemed comfortable taking charge and clearly desired to get everything back on track. He trotted to the Ford Escort, where Jake had taken refuge, and tapped on the window. The two men spoke briefly, and then Jake got out and went inside the church.
Kat leaned into Abby and said, “I’m so there for the party, but I suspect our guests of honor will be delayed. I’d love to be a fly on the wall to hear what Father Joe has to say about this state of affairs.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Affairs? Seriously, Kat? No pun intended, I’m sure.”
Kat replied, “Of course not.”
“We should be happy for them,” said Abby as she reached into her purse for the car keys.
“Well, I am,” said Kat.
“As much as I want to be happy for them, I can’t help feeling that this marriage is still in trouble.”
On the way to her Jeep with Kat, Abby realized how tidy the parking lot looked now that the gardener/handyman had cleaned it. But she found it more than a little disturbing that as she approached her car, the man was bent over with a flashlight, peering into her Jeep. Seeing her, the man clutched the black garbage bag near the tire, carried it to a mound of other bags piled for collection at the parking lot exit, and deposited it.
“Father Joseph believes in the dignity of work and the power of a second chance for everyone. He sets a good example.” Thinking about it, Abby said, “You know, I could use a helping hand around the farmette. Someone prescreened, of course, but it could be a win-win.”
“Or not,” said Kat. “A priest believes in the innate goodness of all people.” She climbed into the Jeep’s passenger seat and shut the door. “Father Joseph has that higher power thing going for him to keep those guys in line. And if something bad did happen, the church stands only blocks away from the police station. That’s not true for your farmette. Who but your chickens and bees would hear you calling for help if somebody assaulted you?”
How a Honeybee Queen Mates
The honeybee queen (Apis mellifera) is the only fertile female in a honeybee hive. She can lay one thousand eggs a day. Unfertilized eggs become males (drones); fertilized eggs become sterile females (worker bees) or new queens. Before a swarm (the way a colony grows its population), the workers feed larvae a special food so the larvae will become new queens. Prior to the virgin queens emerging, the old queen takes flight with approximately half of the workers to find a new home. Back in the hive, the new queens emerge. One or more may leave with some workers, and those that stay behind will sting and attack each other to the death until only one queen remains. That queen will take her virgin flight through the assembled drones outside of the hive. As she flies, she releases pheromones (scents to attract the males). As many a
s ten drones will mate with her in flight or die trying.
Chapter 2
When a male honeybee succeeds in mating with
a queen, he will die within a few hours or days.
—Henny Penny Farmette Almanac
Abby followed Kat as she merged into the line with the other guests who were heading through the heavy plank doors of the Country Schoolhouse Winery on Rooster Flats Road. The interior offered a cozy, convivial atmosphere for the vow-renewal party, in contrast to the cold night beyond its walls. With its air redolent with aged oak, grape must, and potpourri, the room’s focal point was the welcoming blaze in the massive stone fireplace.Here, the party would soon be in full swing.
A female staffer in a black pantsuit and white shirt stood a few feet from the door, offering flutes of bubbly from the huge tray she held. The flutes had been engraved with Jake’s and Paola’s names and the date. With her cheek still itching, Abby remembered the antihistamine tablets and retrieved one from her purse. After washing it down with a sip of sparkling wine, she strolled back to the warmth of the fireplace, where Kat soon joined her. It would be the perfect people-watching spot, since newcomers often gravitated to the opposite wall to admire the private collection of wines Jake and his family had amassed.
A floor-to-ceiling glass cabinet showcased the collection, which required a climate-controlled temperature. The cabinet base rested on a black-and-white patterned tile riser that found resonance in the floor that swept around the S-shaped tasting bar. The staff had removed the bar stools and had retracted the movable wall to create a large open space. They’d moved in dining tables festooned in autumn colors. All that remained was for the guests of honor to show and the sumptuous celebratory meal to begin. Abby knew her honey would be a surprise gift for the guests. Chef Emilio and his staff intended to put out the miniature jars of lavender honey, which Abby had attractively tied with cream-and-orange gingham ribbon. The jars would remain safely locked in the Jeep until the chef was ready for them.
“Fabulous renovation, don’t you agree?” Kat said. “I hardly recognize this place. I heard Jake had to conjure some real mojo for the turnaround, but he’s done it, hasn’t he? Kind of surprising considering that this nineteen thirties winery was dying on the vine.”
Abby sniffed. “Let’s hope he can conjure a similar revival of his marriage.”
“Hmm. Easier said than done. Anyhow, it takes two, doesn’t it? I’ve heard he’s been having mercurial mood swings, and that the wife isn’t entirely faultless in the marriage. Not exactly a recipe for success, and yet here we are.”
Abby set her glass down on the hearth and removed her coat. “None of us are perfect, Kat, but what specifically are you getting at?”
Kat said in a conspiratorial tone, “You don’t think she comes here only to deliver her truffles, do you? I’ve heard she likes visiting the barrel room from time to time.”
Abby arched a brow. “So she’s got a friend in the barrel room. I’m sure she knows everyone who works here.”
A young woman approached. “Would you like me to take your coats?” the woman asked. “That’s my job tonight.”
“Oh,” said Abby. “That would be lovely.”
The blue-eyed woman appeared to be in her early twenties and wore tights, a short black miniskirt, and a white angora sweater. She’d plaited her blond hair in a long braid. “I’m Hannah Thompson, the intern.”
“Thompson. Any relation to the barrel room manager?” asked Abby. She exchanged a warning look with Kat, hoping to censor any further comments about the barrel room worker and Paola.
Hannah smiled. “As a matter of fact, my uncle Scott Thompson—he got me this internship.”
Kat moistened her lips and gazed over the room in her thoughtful way, as she often did during awkward moments.
“Well, here you go,” Abby said. She and Kat handed over their coats. “Lovely to meet you.”
Hannah flashed a wide smile and took the coats.
“Yes,” Kat chimed in. “Lovely.”
With Hannah gone, Abby’s gaze swept the room. She was searching to see if Chef Emilio was among them. Not seeing him, Abby leaned into Kat. “I promised to check in with Emilio as soon as I got here. The kitchen is this way. You coming?”
“Thought you would never ask,” Kat said. “Guys who can cook are such a turn-on. At the Church of the Holy Names ceremony, I couldn’t stop staring at him. Those eyes, that hair.”
“Don’t you mean the hair on the back of his head? Because that was pretty much what you could see after he’d taken his seat.”
“My point exactly,” said Kat. “You’ll be a love and introduce me, won’t you?” she said, walking with Abby to the kitchen. “My birthday is coming—the day before Halloween—and I can’t think of a nicer present to give myself than a relationship with a gorgeous new man, especially one that can cook. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“No question about it. Just don’t show him your broomstick and black cat before he discovers all your other magic,” Abby teased.
As they passed an antique sideboard, Abby noticed a basket of folded cards positioned near a crystal bowl of fragrant potpourri. After plucking a card with the winery logo prominently displayed, Abby peeked inside. Another company logo stood out—Chocolaté Artesano. A plastic sleeve stapled inside the folded card held four cocoa beans.
“Oh, this is nice,” said Abby, stopping to appreciate the card. “Genius, in fact. Paola and Jake are using their vow-exchange party as a promo opportunity for his wines and her handmade truffles.” Handing the card to Kat, Abby said, “You’ve got to give Jake his due. Probably his idea, but I think our girl Paola is a rising star.”
Kat clearly wasn’t interested. She was now obsessed about her appearance. “Do I need lipstick? I think I do. What I was wearing is now all over this flute. Give me a minute. I can’t meet that gorgeous hunk of a chef looking like this.”
“Seriously, Kat. He’s not going to notice your lipstick. And besides, what happened to the firefighter you were going to marry last week?”
“So six minutes ago,” said Kat. “He could make you hot in all kinds of places, but a chef could mix all that heat with a little sweet. And I have got a mouthful of sweet teeth.”
“Trust me, he is working. He won’t notice your flirting.”
“Oh, he will. Men always do. You might be thinking about men in more imaginative ways, girlfriend, if you didn’t go to bed with the chickens, get up with the rooster, and sleep with a dog every night.”
“Well, at least Sugar doesn’t snore . . . much. Fine. I’ll be in the kitchen. The ladies’ room is that way.” Abby pointed toward the restroom at the far end of the wall.
Kat turned and hurried away.
After tucking the card into her purse, Abby strolled into a hallway and followed the sound of dish clatter and animated voices. Once through a swinging galley door, she was met with the tantalizing scents of the dinner being prepared—fresh greens with jicama and Fuyu persimmon slices, harvest pumpkin soup garnished with pepitas, roasted duckling with merlot-chocolate sauce, a timbale of wild rice with ancient grains, and asparagus spears. At Paola’s behest, Emilio had eschewed the cultural dishes loved by his Argentine family and instead had made choices that would appeal to Jake’s family and friends and their winery associates. But Abby felt pretty sure no one was going to mind. As if on cue, her stomach growled.
Waitstaff came and went. A kitchen worker stood at a sink, washing stacks of pots, in an area off to one side of the room, near a small swinging door. Fresh produce covered an entire counter. At other stations, kitchen staff appeared not to notice Abby as they worked at a fever pitch to finish the various food courses for the dinner.
Abby soon spotted the sous-chef at her station and remarked, “Smells divine. I’ve been saving my appetite all day for this meal.”
Remaining silent, the woman reached for a platter. She wore a smaller version of the traditional toque blanche, with her light hair pulled
severely back and secured in a white snood. The long sleeves of her double-breasted jacket had been rolled back to nearly her elbows. She kept her head down, working, as Abby looked on.
“You can’t be in here,” barked the sous-chef, at last looking up.
“I’m looking for Chef Emilio. Know where I might find him?”
The woman shrugged. She stopped slicing Fuyu persimmons long enough to jerk her thumb toward the back door.
Leaving the warmth and the savory scents of the kitchen, Abby opened the door and faced a blast of cold air as she stepped outside. Need a coat. Would have to find Hannah. Oh, forget it. Shivering, Abby crossed her arms over her chest for warmth. On the lookout for Emilio, she paced past two Dumpsters—one for refuse and the other labeled for recycling. She peered to the left, saw no movement at all. And why would there be? In that direction, the vineyard swept steeply uphill in neatly planted rows. The grapes had been harvested, but the vines had not yet been cut. Some protruded like ghostly arms from the guide wires. Fog threaded along the paths between the vines like fingers of smoke.
“Emilio,” she called out, looking to her left and right. Trucks and cars in the lot behind the kitchen appeared as silhouettes. Walking among them, Abby heard a sudden loud pop. She might not be a cop anymore, but she knew a gunshot when she heard one.
Out of instinct, she lunged toward a truck for cover. A car’s headlights caught her as she dove. The high heel on her shoe snapped, and she slid on the wet pavement into one of the truck’s tires. Uphill, the car lights dimmed as the engine cranked over. The sedan rolled toward her. Abby crawled to the truck’s front bumper. Clinging to the cold, wet metal, she hunched low. Not moving. Not breathing. Waiting. The driver seemed intent on finding her, rolling slowly past and pausing at the truck’s tailgate. The engine idled. A flashlight beam through the passenger window bobbed around and stopped to rest on the spot she’d just left. Holding her breath, Abby froze. Could the driver see her? Her heart thrummed against her chest wall.
