Seven Deadly Zins

by Nancy J. Parra

  “I’m out of here,” I said and held back the urge to salute him. “Call me, Tim.”

  “Don’t worry. I will.”

  Chapter 5

  “What happened?” Aunt Jemma asked as she came out of the house to watch my latest tour group sadly crawl into their cars and drive off.

  “We didn’t get any farther than Tim’s winery,” I said and picked up Clemmie to stroke her back.

  “I’ll have a talk with him about high-jacking your tours. I mean, you didn’t have to take them to see him. You were doing him a favor.”

  “He didn’t highjack the tour,” I said. “He was showing us how he stirred the vats, when a body popped up to the top.”

  “Oh my goodness!”

  “He and Mateo jumped in to try and save the guy, but he was pretty dead.”

  “Well, I suppose there are worse ways to go than drowning in a vat of wine.”

  “I’m not sure he drowned,” I said and walked into the house, where Millie jumped up to see me. Clemmie leapt out of my hands as soon as the dog reached me. I sometimes wished they would just get along.

  “What do you mean you don’t think he drowned?” Aunt Jemma asked as she followed me.

  “Sheriff Hennessey was questioning everyone, like he did during the last murder,” I pointed out. “He also got a closer look at the body than I did. I suspect he knows something.”

  “So you think someone murdered a man and tossed him into Tim’s vats?”

  “I think Sheriff Hennessey thinks so,” I said. “Like I said, I didn’t get a good look at the body. I have no idea who he is. All I could see was purple skin and bloating.”

  “Any hair color?”

  “It was purple too. I suppose it could have been blond or white or gray. I don’t think it was black.”

  “It could also have been red,” she said and tapped her fingers on her lips. “So a mysterious man of unknown age and features floats to the top of the must vat when Tim stirs it. That must mean the man found his way into the vats between ten at night and ten in the morning.”

  “Yes,” I said and felt my mood brighten. “That’s right. Tim stirs the vats twice a day, so there’s a twelve-hour window for someone to have gotten into the vat.”

  “I highly doubt the man was murdered and then hours later put in the vat,” Aunt Jemma said. “Dead bodies are difficult to move. You’ve heard of the term ‘dead weight,’ right? It means that—”

  “I know, I know—a dead person is super heavy,” I interjected. “I can’t imagine picking up one hundred and eighty pounds and lifting it over my head to toss it in a vat.” I petted Millie while Aunt Jemma poured us both glasses of wine. “It took two strong men to drag him out of the vat.”

  “That means it was most likely a man who killed the dead guy,” Aunt Jemma said and handed me a glass. “That’s a good place to start.”

  “To start what?”

  “The investigation.”

  “What do you mean ‘the investigation’?” I sat down on the big overstuffed leather couch so that Millie could come and sit by me. “Why would I care about the investigation?”

  “Well, surely you’re going to help Tim figure out who did this thing on his property,” Aunt Jemma said and took a seat on the cabbage rose–covered, winged-back chair across from me.

  “I am a bit curious,” I said and leaned toward her. “I want to know who the dead man was and how he ended up in the vat.”

  “Dead man?” Holly asked as she came in through the back door. “What dead man? Are you okay?”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked and got up to give her a hug.

  “I was working in the tasting barn,” Holly said and poured herself a glass of zinfandel. She was dressed in the classic black skirt and white shirt that Aunt Jemma asked of all of her sommeliers. “Aunt Jemma is training me in the ways of wine so I can do a proper job at the art gallery.”

  Holly worked full time at La Galleria, a contemporary art gallery specializing in Northern California artists. Just last month the gallery had showcased a lovely young artist who helped me investigate another murder that happened on one of my tours. But that’s a different story.

  “I’m taking a class at the community college too,” Holly said. “It can’t hurt to understand wines and everything. It’s sort of expected, considering where we live.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t taken one sooner,” I said.

  She blushed. “I wasn’t interested until Jeremy.”

  “Jeremy?”

  “Yes, Jeremy Rentz,” she sat down next to me. “I met Jeremy at the art gallery. He came in looking for local artists to highlight in the resort he’d just bought.”

  “What resort is that?” Aunt Jemma asked.

  “The Timbers,” she said. “You know, down around the hot springs. Anyway, Jeremy was telling me that he was remodeling the old place to bring it more in line with a five-star hotel and resort, with the hot springs as a draw and the old Spanish Mission architecture.”

  “Do I know this Jeremy?” Aunt Jemma asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Holly said and sipped her wine. “He came up here from Monterey a few months back.”

  “What’s he look like?” I asked. I walked over and lifted Clemmie off the countertop and stroked her fur.

  “He’s about six feet tall and thin, with shiny blond hair cut sort of preppy, and vivid green eyes.” Holly sighed a little over his eyes.

  “I bet he’s handsome,” Aunt Jemma said.

  “Yes,” Holly said. “He sort of looks like a movie star, and he made a bundle of money on a couple of start-ups and is moving into the resort business.”

  “I didn’t know you were dating anyone new,” I said, raising an eyebrow and sitting back down on the couch near my wine glass. Clemmie squirmed because Millie was nearby, but I kept petting her, and soon she settled down into a superior look as the dog was left to find pets elsewhere.

  “I didn’t tell you because it was all too new,” Holly said. “But then he suggested I take a wine class with him at the community college. We go together every Thursday night, and—well, as part of the homework we need to work at a tasting barn.”

  “That’s where I come in,” Aunt Jemma said.

  “Yes,” Holly said. “Aunt Jemma is allowing me to work in her barn a few hours a week to understand the local flavors and see some of the business side of a winery.”

  “Does this Jeremy have a wine bar at The Timbers?” I asked.

  “He does,” Holly said. “He’s redoing everything and is going to put in a very high-end wine list and Kobe beef steak house.”

  “That’s pretty expensive.” I sensed Clemmie was done with sitting in my lap and let her go. “Sounds like something Tim would like.”

  “Jeremy knows a Michelin two-star chef and has promised to let the man create whatever he wants for the menu.”

  “Wow, that is high end,” I said. “Sonoma is a small town. Do you think there will be enough people to keep a place like that in business?”

  “I believe there will be,” Holly said. “We’re going to do some serious advertising and cross promotions.”

  “We?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Holly said. “I’ve talked to my boss about cross-promoting La Galleria and The Timbers. I’ve got a meeting set up with the Chamber of Commerce to see about creating a wine festival to correspond with the opening of The Timbers.”

  “That is gutsy,” I said. “There are some people on the board of directors at the Chamber who are really influential.”

  “I can help you as well,” Aunt Jemma said. “I have some influence with those folks. I’ve been a member of the Chamber for over twenty years, and I’ve attended every one of their monthly coffees to network.”

  “I knew I could count on you,” Holly said.

  “Are you doing all this to impress Jeremy?” I asked. “He must be a heck of a guy. I don’t remember you putting so much effort into a relationship before.”

&
nbsp; “I think I’m in love,” Holly said with wide eyes.

  “Wow,” I said and gave her a hug. “That’s fantastic.”

  “And quick,” Aunt Jemma added.

  “I think it was a classic case of love at first sight,” Holly said. “Anyway, I’ve got a lot to learn if I want to help out at The Timbers and get everyone at the Chamber of Commerce to agree to hold a festival in time with the grand reopening of the remodeled hotel. That’s why I’m so glad that Aunt Jemma let me work in the tasting barn.”

  “You might be able to pick up a few extra hours out at Tim’s place,” I said and sipped my wine. “His sommelier walked out today.”

  “Oh no, that’s terrible—why?”

  “She said her father wouldn’t let her work right next to a crime scene.”

  “Are you talking about Stacy?” Aunt Jemma asked. “Her father is Senator Randolph. Can you imagine how he’d be if his daughter was part of a murder investigation?” She stood. “Now, ladies, I’m making grilled salmon and salad for dinner. Who wants some?”

  * * *

  Aunt Jemma was a grill master. She had learned from an old boyfriend who was a chef. He’d taught her everything there was to know about how to prep and grill all types of foods, from appetizers to entrees, to desserts. I loved her simple grilled salmon with garlic and lemon pepper. After dinner, Holly went home to get ready for her evening work at the gallery and I was in my bedroom in the poolhouse beside Aunt Jemma’s big house. The poolhouse had a small living area and kitchenette, a full walk-in closet, one bedroom, and a bathroom. I sat curled up on my couch, working on my laptop, while Clemmie sat on top of the breakfast bar and batted at Millie as the puppy raced around underneath her, trying to get her to come down and play.

  My phone rang and I saw it was Tim, so I answered it. “Hey, Tim, how are you?”

  “I could be better,” he said. “Your friend Hennessey has me on his suspect list.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said. “There is no way you would kill someone.”

  “Trust me, if I had, I wouldn’t have put him in a vat of the best grapes I’ve grown since I bought the winery. Whoever did this is sabotaging me.”

  “Do they know who the dead man is yet?” I asked gently.

  “It’s Jeffery Hoag,” Tim said.

  “Wait—where have I heard that name before?” I asked. “Do you know him? Was he a friend or something?”

  “He was Mandy’s boss, the realtor,” Tim said. “I had no idea he was even in the area. The last I’d heard, Mandy said he was working a big deal in Monterey.”

  “How did he get from Monterey to your winery?” I asked and pursed my lips. “Does Mandy know this?”

  “I don’t know,” Tim said. “She said he was going to be in Monterey this week, and she would have more time to work at the steak house.”

  “Wait—now I remember: Stacy said you went to a meeting and came back not too happy with this realtor. What happened?”

  “Hoag and Senator Randolph are trying to push new zoning through. I suspect he’s influencing the local of the Food and Drug Administration to do their due diligence on the wineries just to hassle us. Personally, I think Randolph’s mad because I didn’t contribute to last year’s campaign. Now that he’s won, he’s harassing the people who didn’t support him.”

  “He can’t do that, can he? Use his influence to get back at you?”

  “He can certainly try,” Tim said. “Anyway, I didn’t even know Hoag was on the property, let alone toss him in a vat of my best grapes.”

  “Why do the police think you were involved in the killing?” I asked. “I mean, it’s not like he was scheduled to meet with you. Was he?”

  “No,” Tim said.

  I frowned. “Then why does Ron—er, Sheriff Hennessy think you might have had something to do with this man’s death?”

  “He said I had motive,” Tim said, and I heard the roughness of his hand on his beard as he rubbed his hand over his face.

  “What motive?”

  “Apparently, a lot of people knew I was upset at that meeting.”

  “Just because you were upset doesn’t mean you killed the man. It’s not like you threatened him.”

  “I might have … I don’t know. I was mad.”

  “What exactly did you say?”

  “I don’t know, I might have said something like he was too stupid to live.”

  “That’s not a threat. This is all a big mistake. Everyone knows you wouldn’t hurt a fly. You have an alibi. Stacy was there,and Mandy was with you, right?”

  “No, Stacy didn’t come in until nine thirty this morning,” Tim said. “And Mandy stormed out last night over something I said.”

  “What did you say to make her storm out?”

  “She’s so darn emotional,” he said forcefully. “I might have said something about her new guru. She takes everything so seriously.”

  “New guru? You mean Dr. Brinkman?”

  “Yeah. She never sees these guys for the con men they are. Seriously, it’s all a kind of pyramid scheme. I mean, don’t get me wrong—Mandy’s a pretty girl and all, but if you needed an international spokesperson for a real business, wouldn’t you get a Hollywood actress with a following, who needed more exposure? Some of those actresses make one or two movies and disappear. They would be perfect for a gig like the one Brinkman is talking about. Not real estate office manager Mandy.”

  I winced. “Please don’t tell me you told Mandy that.”

  “What? It’s the truth.”

  I sighed. “Was she gone for the entire night?”

  “She went to her sister’s house,” he said. “Or her mom’s.”

  “Was Mateo around?”

  “Mateo has a family. He’s a good guy, though. Gets here around seven most mornings and works till dark if I need him to. I gave him the weekend off of turn duty. It was his daughter’s birthday.”

  “So you have no alibi.”

  “I was on my own property,” he said with an edge of frustration. “What the heck do I need an alibi for?”

  “And you had no idea anyone else was on your property?”

  “Look, we have a big sign, “Wine tasting.” People drive up all the time. They come and go.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Where’s his car?”

  “What?”

  “This Hoag guy.” I stood and started pacing. “He’s not your neighbor, right? So where’s his car? You would have seen his car, right?”

  “Yeah,” Tim said. “I didn’t see a car. There’s not one on the property. I mean, I didn’t look over all the acres, but if he drove up to inspect the place, he should have parked in the tasting room lot.”

  “Tell Sheriff Hennessey to go looking for his car,” I said. “He’ll listen. He doesn’t like things that don’t make sense.”

  “Let’s hope that’s true.”

  Chapter 6

  Sonoma might be famous the world over for its wines and wineries, but it really is just a small farming community. Like many small farm towns, it has its layers of society, with the bankers, the large landowners, and the business owners—all members of the country club. The Chamber of Commerce is run by lawyers, judges, and local business owners trying to capitalize on their reputation. I joined the Chamber of Commerce to get my company on the website and in the tourism brochures.

  It was Friday morning, and I was in town for a workshop on ramping up your local networking. The Chamber offered workshops for everything, from start-up information to inventory and budgets. I crossed the street to enter the Chamber’s Mission-style building.

  “Hi, Taylor,” Missy Simpson, the receptionist, welcomed me. She sat behind a tall, round counter. Behind her was a short wall, papered in beige and white stripes with a grapevine border. Like a lot of small-town receptionists, she dressed in a business casual blouse and slacks. Her short blond hair was buzzed close on one side and long on the other, to show off the rows of earrings she wore.

  “Hi, Missy,” I said. �
�I’m here for the workshop.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Candy is setting up now in the conference room down the hall to the left. I have your badge and packet.” She pulled out a packet of paper and a “My name is” badge. “Help yourself to coffee and bagels. Restrooms are on the right.”

  “Thanks. How’s Ned?”

  Ned was Missy’s horse. When I’d joined the chamber last month, we’d spent a good two hours catching up. Missy had told me that the horse she had gotten when we were juniors in high school was still alive and practically her best friend. She had gotten him for riding and to help with chores on her father’s large winery. But in his old age, she mostly rode him for pleasure.

  “He’s good for an old man,” she said with a bright smile. “Thanks for remembering.”

  The doors behind me opened, and a woman who appeared to be in her late forties walked in. She had short, impeccably highlighted hair and wore a sheath dress with matching jacket. “Hello, Missy,” she said with a perfect smile. “I’m here for the workshop.”

  “Good morning, Bridget,” Missy said. “I have your badge and packet.”

  “I’m attending too,” I said and lifted my packet to emphasize what I’d said. “I’m Taylor O’Brian.”

  “Bridget Miller,” she said and shook my offered hand. Her hands were small and her manicure perfect. There wasn’t even a scuff on her shoe. It made me feel a little like a secondhand rag doll.

  I was wearing a simple maxi dress and sandals. At least I’d painted my toenails a nice color to match.

  “What do you do?” I asked out of curiosity. I imagined she ran an accounting firm or something that needed a lot of precision.

  “I run a wine country tours business,” she said with a sharklike smile. “Nice to meet my competition.”

  I tried not to react, but I might have stopped short for a brief moment. “Really—how nice.”

  She pulled out a slick business card. It read, “Quirky Tours—the original wine country tours, with two daily tours.”

  “Huh,” I said as I read it. “I’m sorry—I haven’t heard of Quirky Tours.”