Aged for Mayhem, page 13
“But—but—” Olivia gasped. This was like watching a terrible accident play out in front of her. “Don’t you think that the winery at least deserves to sell one bottle to you, in exchange for the beautiful photo backdrop? I mean, nobody wants to be perceived as a rude tourist. That would be terrible. There’s always one’s national reputation to consider.”
She gazed appealingly at the spectacle lady, who seemed to be the group’s main influencer.
The woman gazed at Olivia over her bifocals. She didn’t seem convinced.
“You could always use the wine to cook with.” Olivia smiled in a conspiratorial way, hating herself for having to stoop so low in order to make a sale on their behalf. She hoped nobody at Quercia Winery would ever find out she’d said such a thing about their gold-medal-winning vintages.
“True enough,” the spectacled lady agreed.
“Would you mind taking our photo?” Barry asked her.
“Sure,” Olivia said.
The tourists clustered together in front of the battlements and Olivia snapped a few shots on Barry’s phone.
“Smile!” she said.
Then they changed their grouping and she took more photos on the red jacketed lady’s phone, and then the lady with the pink spectacles handed her a phone, too. Olivia was starting to wonder if she was going to end up being late for work.
“Will you look at the time!” Barry said, when Olivia had done the last round of photos. “We’re going to have to head on now.”
Olivia’s smile disappeared.
“You mean you’re not going to buy any wine from here?”
“Not now. But we have the lovely photos to remember it by.”
“Siri, find me Oak Grove Winery,” the lady at the back of the group commanded her phone, as she scrambled back into the bus.
With a scrunch of wheels, they were gone, leaving Olivia alone in the parking lot.
“Well,” she said.
She felt like saying a lot more. What a frustrating encounter. Short of dragging the group inside, she hadn’t been able to persuade them to give this wonderful winery any business. They’d refused to set foot in it as a result of the awful ratings it had received by one man.
She headed into the otherwise empty tasting room.
“Good morning,” she greeted the gray-haired, mustached sommelier. “I don’t have time to do a tasting, but I’d love to buy—” She hesitated. Her credit card would only stretch so far, and she’d already purchased far more wine than she’d intended to, as well as splashed out on her bucket-list gold chain. That trip to Florence suddenly seemed like a long time ago. How carefree life had been then, Olivia thought with a sigh. She hadn’t expected her circumstances to change so dramatically in a couple of short days.
She looked around the empty tasting room, where the castle theme had been carried through with metal grilles and dramatic lanterns and candlesticks. There were even faux-old-style portraits on the walls of Italian noblemen and women with their greyhounds. What a wonderful place.
“I’d love to buy a mixed case of your red wines,” she said bravely. “My name’s Olivia Glass.”
She had to make up for the lack of business, even if it maxed out her card.
The sommelier gave a relieved smile.
“Thank you, Olivia,” he said. “I am Gianfranco, the owner of this winery. It is our sommelier’s day off today, and I am always glad to have the chance to interact with visitors. However, I apologize for how empty our establishment is. Business has been slow the past week, ever since we got a bad review from a well-known critic.”
Olivia felt encouraged that this would be an easy interview if her potential suspect was already volunteering information.
“I know about it,” she said. “I work for La Leggenda. He did the same to us.”
Gianfranco shook his head. “It is wrong. There should be some checks and balances in place. For one man to have so much power over the local wine industry—I think he ended up misusing it.”
He wrapped each bottle carefully in tissue paper before placing them in the case.
“I said to my wife after our review appeared that I would email him and ask if it could be removed altogether as it was unfair. Of course, when it came to it, I could not think what to write. I put it off, but then decided I needed to confront him if I was to have any success.”
“When were you planning to do that?” she asked.
“As soon as possible,” Gianfranco said. “In fact, I tried to contact him three times before his death. Each time, I was unable to speak to him and his assistant was very obstructive. She wouldn’t let me make an appointment after she realized what the purpose of my visit was.”
Abruptly, he cut himself short, as if realizing he was sharing too much.
“Did you know where he was staying?” Olivia asked. Her suspicions of this gray-haired winery owner were growing stronger.
“I never met him again.” Gianfranco hadn’t answered her question directly, and Olivia thought he looked uneasy. His fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on the counter.
“Did you plan to go to the hotel?” Olivia probed, feeling anxious.
“One plans many things in life,” Gianfranco replied cryptically, but he looked away and wouldn’t meet her eyes. Olivia could sense he’d clammed up and was not going to give her any further information.
She felt conflicted as he carried the heavy box to her car. Gianfranco was holding back, she was sure of it.
Was he the murderer? And if not, why hadn’t he opened up and told her everything he knew?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Throughout the long, frustratingly quiet afternoon at the winery, Olivia couldn’t shake the uneasy certainty that she’d been lied to. As soon as work was over, she messaged Danilo and asked if he’d like to come around for a drink and snacks, to talk about the case.
She hoped he would say yes. She was desperate to get some perspective on this complex and confusing situation, and to be able to share her thoughts with someone she could trust.
Her heart leaped as he replied immediately.
“I would love to come around! What can I bring?”
“Just some wine!” Olivia texted back, smiling.
She couldn’t wait to discuss what she’d learned so far, and find out what he thought the next step should be.
She made a quick stop at the shops on the way home, and as soon as she got inside, began frantically preparing the plates of food.
After the difficult interviews earlier in the day, it was a relief to focus on her snack creations, and take her mind off the troubling case for a while.
She had a lot to do. The only part of the mini feast she’d cheated on was buying the Erbazzone from the bakery. These small, savory pies were filled with spinach, chard, leeks, ham, and Parmesan. They were one of Olivia’s favorite Italian snacks. And because they contained spinach and chard, she reckoned they qualified as a health food, too.
Everything else, she decided she would make from scratch.
Olivia’s first job was to slice the rustic loaf of bread into thin slices, and then halve them into neat, easy to eat pieces. She brushed them with olive oil and put them under the grill to toast.
At that moment, her phone rang.
Olivia grabbed it, wondering if it would be Danilo. She hoped he wouldn’t be calling to cancel, but she also prayed he wouldn’t be asking if he could arrive any earlier. She had a lot to do in the next hour.
It was her mother.
“Hello, angel. I thought I’d call at this time when you were likely to be home,” Mrs. Glass said. “Although, as you know, I still don’t think of Italy as being your home. I feel as if you’re simply enjoying an extended vacation there! Home is Chicago, isn’t it? Or any other town within a reasonable driving distance of our house.”
Olivia stared at the spread of waiting ingredients. There wasn’t a moment to lose in her food prep, but equally, she didn’t want to offend her mother by saying she couldn’t talk right now.
With a sigh, she switched the phone to speaker. She’d have to chat with her mother while simultaneously preparing several different snacks. Even a good multi-tasker would find themselves stretched to the limit trying to juggle all these activities, and Olivia knew from thirty-four years of personal life experience that she wasn’t a good multi-tasker.
“Hello, Mom,” she said. Yup, the cheerful-yet-strained tone was audible in her own voice, just as she’d expected.
One of these days, she was going to have to take a stand and tell her mother firmly that she was capable of making her own reasoned decisions, had no intention of moving back to the States, and that this was a permanent life choice.
However, Olivia acknowledged that there wasn’t going to be time for that difficult conversation right now.
“I have exciting news for you!” her mother announced.
“Really? What is it?” Olivia asked cautiously, taking the fresh asparagus spears out of the paper grocery bag. She had absolutely no idea what the news could be. Had her parents adopted a dog? Were they renovating their kitchen?
A chill ran down her spine as she wondered if the news might be that her mother had booked flights to Italy to visit Olivia. It would be typical of her to reserve the tickets first and only then share the bombshell with her daughter.
Her mother had a knack for inappropriate timing. Arriving while Olivia was embroiled in a murder investigation and trying to avoid being arrested would be typical behavior from Mrs. Glass.
“I’m starting a wine appreciation club,” her mother continued. “In fact, I’ve started it. We’ve already had our first get-together.”
“A wine club?” Olivia was surprised. She’d never have guessed that! She listened carefully, just in case an impulse vacation to Italy proved to be part two of the news.
“You’ve not known me as a wine lover, and Bailey’s Irish Cream has been my tipple of choice in recent years, but let me tell you, I was an avid sherry drinker in my day.”
Olivia rinsed the asparagus spears, patted them dry, placed them on a baking tray, and brushed them with olive oil.
“That’s very exciting. I’m sure you will enjoy the social aspect,” she encouraged her mother.
“As I told Gladys from next door, I can’t possibly have a daughter dabbling in the wine trade, even though in a foreign country, without fine-tuning my own already very promising palate. After all, you must have inherited your taste for wine from one of us and your father’s never been a drinker at all.”
“I’m sure you will make great strides,” Olivia said, snatching open the oven door just in time. Another moment and her crostini would have been overdone. Out with the bread, in with the asparagus, and she hoped that she wouldn’t forget about them, too.
“I wanted your advice on some good starter wines for the girls and me,” her mother continued.
“Er,” Olivia said. She guessed semi-sweet might be the best choice, if her mother was used to Bailey’s Irish Cream. Perhaps a Gewurztraminer, she thought.
Before she could make the suggestion, her mother continued.
“The peach-flavored sparkling wine we enjoyed in our first session was very nice. Gladys brought it. We weren’t sure what it was until we read the label and saw it had sweetened peach juice added. We definitely picked up stone fruit, though, all of us.”
“That’s excellent,” Olivia said cautiously. Peach-flavored sparkling wine? Where had her mother bought it? She didn’t think such a thing was readily available in Italy. She could imagine what Nadia would think of mixing sweetened fruit juice with wine.
“Maybe experiment with some different fruit flavors?” she suggested, hoping this would be within the group’s comfort zone.
“The other thing I should tell you is that one of the group, a very nice lady who lives opposite the park, brought along a bottle of Valley Red.”
Olivia tried to speak, but choked. Quickly, she poured herself a glass of water as her mother continued smoothly.
“We didn’t get around to drinking it and I do remember there was some controversy surrounding it after your hugely successful marketing campaign for the wine? Would you recommend we drink it next time? Or should we leave it? I’d like to make a factual decision and not feel that it’s sour grapes on my part because you no longer work at the ad agency, even though I’m convinced you’ll return to your chosen career after this little break. Oh, did you hear me? I made a pun! Sour grapes!” Her mother laughed merrily.
“I wouldn’t advise drinking it,” Olivia warned. “If you remember, it was taken off the shelves after the FDA raided the manufacturing premises. Plus, from personal experience, it gives you a terrible headache.”
“Oh, of course. It’s coming back to me as we speak. Rats in the wine vats, and banned chemicals being used! How could I have forgotten? Perhaps I erased it from my mind?” her mother suggested in a low, horrified voice. “No wonder you decided to take a career sabbatical after being involved in promoting it!”
Olivia rolled her eyes, unable to get in a word of protest as her mother continued.
“I certainly won’t drink it in that case, as it doesn’t sound healthy. Although, do you think one could use it for cooking, since heat disinfects?”
Cooking! With her memory jogged in the nick of time, Olivia rescued the asparagus spears from the oven.
“I wouldn’t recommend that either,” she advised.
“Goodness! There doesn’t seem to be much use for it, angel.”
“No, not really,” Olivia admitted.
She scooped a spoonful of ricotta cheese from the tub and spread it onto the first of her crostini. Olivia sighed. It looked instantly messy, as if a preschooler had been playing with food. When Gabriella did the same thing, the ricotta looked perfect, designer-applied.
“I know! I’ll start a wine collection!” Mrs. Glass decided. “The Valley Red can be my first bottle. I’ll put it down in the rack to mature.” She raised her voice. “Andrew, we need to buy a wine rack. A big one—it might need to hold as many as eight or even ten bottles one day in the future if our collection grows. Well, angel, it’s been lovely chatting to you. Edna’s at the door now so I have to head off on our morning walk.”
Abruptly, her mother disconnected, and Olivia shook her head, feeling bemused, as she returned to the urgent job of food prep.
It seemed like only a few minutes later, but was actually more like an hour, when Danilo’s truck pulled up outside her front gate.
All the food was ready, and Olivia had refreshed her lipstick and put on a warm but stylish knit top.
Should she light some candles? she wondered, glancing into the dining room as she hurried to the front door.
No, she decided. This was not a romantic occasion, but a working get-together, where they were going to discuss the investigation.
“Hello!” She met Danilo at the front door.
His hair was still purple and the same length—clearly, his niece hadn’t had the chance to experiment with any new styles this week—and he was carrying a bottle of wine.
“Thank you for inviting me,” he greeted her.
Forgetting her Italian etiquette in the excitement of his arrival, Olivia leaned forward to hug him at the same time that Danilo tried to kiss her cheek.
Their heads collided with an audible thud.
“Oh, dear,” Olivia said. She gave an embarrassed laugh. Even though they had such a relaxed, platonic friendship, it seemed prone to these awkward moments. “I was trying to hug you. I forgot my local manners.”
“I can learn new customs.” Danilo smiled.
Carefully, he leaned toward her and embraced her warmly with his free hand. Her face pressed against his neck, and she felt the smoothness of his leather jacket on her chin.
Then, moving back, Danilo kissed her on each cheek.
Olivia realized her face felt strangely hot. Probably, it was from rushing around making the food look presentable.
“I prepared some snacks for us. And I have some wine for you, as a gift,” she said. She had picked out three of the nicest bottles from her morning’s shopping; a fine Merlot-Sangiovese blend from Quercia Winery, the rosé from Cantina Carducci, and the Sangiovese she’d bought from the friendly Vino Sul Mare winery.
The dining room table was covered with tasty-looking plates of food.
Olivia had made polpette—Italian meatballs with added parsley, garlic, eggs, and Parmesan. The bite-size, well-browned treats smelled delicious and she’d skewered them with toothpicks and arranged them in a bowl so they’d be easy to eat.
She’d topped her ricotta-spread crostini with a variety of different delights. Some had chopped mixed olives and sundried tomatoes, others were decorated with garlicky fried mushrooms, and others with the roasted asparagus spears.
The only job she’d had with the Erbazzone had been to warm them and transfer them to a plate.
“Wow!” Danilo said, looking at the spread of food. “When you said snacks, I was expecting a packet of Amica potato chips. You are such a good cook. These look delicious.”
Olivia realized that in her enthusiasm she’d catered for six people, rather than two. This was a dinner-sized selection. But since it was officially snacks, and not dinner, it didn’t count as such.
“I bought the pastries,” she admitted, pouring them wine. “Everything else I made, or at least assembled.”
Danilo headed over to the fireplace to greet Pirate. The cat meowed a friendly greeting and Danilo got down onto all fours to exchange head bumps with the now-purring animal.
“He is looking good. So tame.”
“I’m almost ready to take him to the vet,” Olivia said. “He’s getting better and better about being picked up.”
She handed Danilo his wine and they clinked glasses and sat down.
“Saluti,” Danilo toasted her. “Olivia, I have been looking on that site. That critic, he was mad. I have been to a few of those wineries. No way did they deserve those terrible reviews, yours included. And I am appalled he trashed your new rosé. I have not yet tasted it, but if the owners of La Leggenda consider it a fine wine, you can be certain it is. The Vescovis are among the most renowned experts in the area. They are the leaders. Not some guy who got famous through a website.”
