A Not So Rosy Vintage, page 6
“No. I’m not.” There had to be something very wrong with me if I actually wanted my girlfriend trapped in a house with my family.
Juniper and I had made it to the front porch, when a raised voice caught our attention. “I know…I know…That is what he said last time.”
Juniper made a show of crouching down and creeping to the corner of the house to spy on the person talking before sneaking back. “It’s Brad,” she stage-whispered.
I could have told her that. Bad Brad’s voice matched his looks perfectly.
“…He’ll be paid…” Brad said, his voice growing more impatient. “I know what Rose’s will said, but the situation has changed…Just tell him I’ll be there this afternoon.”
Juniper and I were waiting to hear more, when Bad Brad appeared around the corner, putting his phone in a pocket.
We reacted a second too late. Juniper began ruffling Chouzie’s fur. “It’s like he has a rash from irritation.”
Bad Brad was eyeing us suspiciously, so I went along with Juniper’s performance. Crouching down, I pretended to see a rash under Chouzie’s reddish fur. “Uh-huh,” I said, because I literally had no words for pretend dog rashes.
I don’t know what Brad thought. But Juniper can give convincing performances. Who knows, maybe Bad Brad bought it. At any rate, he didn’t accuse us of eavesdropping.
As he grew closer, his features relaxed. “Breakfast is ready,” he said with a wink that was probably meant for Juniper.
We followed him inside. Juniper went upstairs to drop Chouzie off in our suite, while I followed Brad to the dining area. Brittany was there, sharing a table with Paul and Sienna, their plates all filled with food. After a quick good morning, I served myself at the buffet table, before taking the empty seat beside Brittany.
Fixing my hair, I told myself not to be smothering and to keep my pining glances to an absolute minimum. So I concentrated on my food.
“How was your walk?”
Had Brittany just asked me a question? My head snapped up. Britt, Sienna, and Paul were waiting expectantly, so she must have asked.
“Um, good,” I said.
There was a matching sparkle in Britt’s and Paul’s eyes, and I got the uncomfortable impression they were laughing at me. I tried to come up with something else to say. Something interesting. “Chouzie liked…the vineyard.”
“That’s good,” Brittany said.
I nodded. Wondering what was wrong with me and if coffee was the cure.
It was a relief when Juniper joined the table. As much as I wanted to check in with Britt, I couldn’t do it over eggs and with an audience.
Juniper had freshened up and dashed on some makeup. “So I talked with Hannah. She said we could get a tour this morning. After that, there’s another tasting scheduled during lunch, and then we’ll go out to the vineyard and try our hand at picking.”
My stomach twisted. I get why the staff of Rose’s Vineyard were ignoring the whole murder thing, but Tasha had just died and the day was set aside for drinking wine and wandering around grapevines.
“What tour?” Sienna asked.
“Oh, Holt wanted a walk-through of the winery building,” Juniper said.
“Did he?” Britt analyzed my face, knowing me well enough to suspect I didn’t care about the fermentation process.
“Tasha died there,” I said for Britt’s ears only.
Brittany nodded.
Could she tell my feelings for Tasha were in the past? The only times I’d thought about Tasha in recent years were with a bruised ego because she’d dumped me. Still, even if I had to explain my need to solve her murder to Britt, someone had to care enough to find out what happened. The police were probably too busy tracking down any motives I might have for killing Tasha. If they used all their manpower trying to prove I was an obsessed stalker, they’d have no time to catch the real killer.
“Wait.” I’d been too focused on my little investigation to process everything Juniper had said. “Are we picking grapes?”
“Yup.”
“So the vineyard’s guests are expected to help with the chores?”
Paul chuckled, Britt squeezed my knee, and Sienna said I should try new things, all while my sister and I never broke eye contact.
When Sienna finished talking, Juniper said, “Yes. They expect us to work in the fields.”
“It’s supposed to make the wine taste better when you appreciate the work that went into it,” Paul said, his eyes twinkling.
“I appreciated it just fine last night,” I grumbled into my plate.
Average Joe came to our table dressed in work clothes. “See you all for grape picking this afternoon?”
They all nodded, while I remained classily neutral.
“We’ll meet out front,” he said before leaving.
His jeans and T-shirt combo were identical to yesterday’s outfit. Meanwhile, Quirky Sue had changed into a tie-dye dress. How had this group been friends for so long? They were so different.
I sighed. Work clothes. I didn’t bring work clothes. At best I had an expensive pair of jeans and a V-neck tee. I’d already lost one outfit on this trip, I’d better not wreck a second one grape picking. When I’d packed for the trip, I’d pictured leisurely man of the world. The reality was dusty wineries and field labor.
Since Juniper had gotten dressed after our walk, I’d become the least-dressed person in the group for the second day in a row. After excusing myself, I went up to our rooms. I dressed quickly and fixed my hair. I decided the shoes I’d worn for the drive were best for a day traipsing through fields and wineries.
Leaving my bedroom, I was surprised to find Brittany waiting on the sectional in the main room. How long had she been there?
Patting the seat next to her, Britt said, “I’m ready to talk if you are.”
“How mad are you?” I asked, sitting down.
There’s probably a better, smoother way of starting mature relationship conversations, but how would I know? My only other real girlfriend was from college.
“I’m not mad” is what Brittany said, but that little scar by her right eyebrow was visible, so she clearly wasn’t happy.
“So…” I paused, wondering if I should keep my mouth shut before deciding to just push through. “You haven’t been avoiding me?”
Britt’s eyes widened. “Was this really a conversation you were up to having last night?”
I shrugged. “Not really.” Then, seeing the mug of tea I’d made Britt still untouched on the table, I asked, “And this morning?”
Heat rose up Brittany’s cheeks. “Okay, so there’s a chance I am…or was a little…upset.”
“I knew it!” I said, pointing a finger in her face. A moment later I remembered I wasn’t a third grader, but it was hard to recapture an air of maturity.
For Britt’s part, her mouth trembled like she was trying really hard to remain serious.
“Sorry.” I raised my hands. “So, dear girlfriend, me not recognizing Tasha upset you. Is this a matter you wish to discuss further?”
Brittany raised an eyebrow. “Where’d you learn to talk like that?”
Squaring my shoulders, I tried to look offended. “I always talk like this. It’s not like my work has mandatory communication seminars.”
“Clearly.” Britt’s voice was dry.
Neither of us said anything more, and I began fighting the temptation to check the time. If Tasha had been killed because of something in the winery, I wanted to find out what. The tour was getting added on to Hannah’s day, and I didn’t want to miss her free time. But I couldn’t check the clock. Brittany needed to know she was my priority.
Should I ask her to Christmas?
Yeah, no. Definitely not. We needed to be on firmer ground before I brought up something major.
Britt shifted on the couch, her hands fluttering before tucking invisible strands of hair behind her ears. “It’s irrational,” she said. “But finding out you didn’t recognize your ex when she was dying in your arms…well, it made me wonder if you’d remember me in a few years.”
I let out a sigh. How was I supposed to answer that? Also (and this was probably the wrong thing to focus on), I had to set the record straight. “Okay, so for starters, I didn’t forget Tasha.” I sounded impatient, so I tried again. “Look at the photos; she was way different.”
Wait…I’d be in the photos…
“Actually, don’t bother with the photos. But trust me. It’s quite the transformation. And yes, if we break up and a decade later I run into you and you’ve dyed your hair pink, are wearing large glasses, and are dressed like a pop star, I might not recognize you. But there’s no way I’d ever forget you.”
A faint smile played on Brittany’s lips. Then she asked, “Even if you got dementia?”
I frowned, before coming up with an answer I was super proud of. And it was all thanks to Juniper making me watch a Ryan Gosling movie.
“If I got dementia, I’d expect you to visit every day”—I laced her fingers between mine—“and tell me the story of how we met.”
Brittany’s lips trembled, but she managed not to laugh. “Holt, you’re quoting The Notebook.”
“What notebook?”
Chapter 5
Juniper was waiting on the front porch when Britt and I stepped outside. She smirked at the sight of us, somehow knowing we’d made up. I tried not to be bothered, yet little sisters can be so annoying.
“Hannah told me to head over as soon as we’re ready,” Juniper said.
“Are Paul and Sienna coming?” I asked.
“They have plans,” Brittany said.
“Like an actual date,” Juniper said.
I nodded.
That wasn’t a good enough response for Juniper. “Hot-air balloon, Holt. Paul’s taking his girlfriend on a hot-air balloon ride.”
“That’s nice,” I said, thankful I was wearing my sunglasses so they could hide my annoyance.
Juniper waited for Britt to leave the porch before she grabbed my arm and whispered, “Paul is wayyy more romantic than you.”
Who cared that Paul was taking Sienna on a hot-air balloon ride? I was taking Brittany to the crime scene of my murdered ex…Sure it might not look as fun on social media, but the tour should be educational.
“Did you hear me?” Juniper asked.
Instead of responding to my lack of romance, I asked, “Where’s your husband?”
Juniper’s eyes flicked away for a second before meeting mine. “He’s on a business trip.”
I gave a mock frown. “And what’s his business?”
“That’s none of your business.”
If anything, Juniper was being more cryptic about his job than the last time I asked.
Hint: Jude works for the government, and my money’s on spy.
We began walking to the winery and were met by Hot Hannah from an adjoining path. She was again dressed in a way that made her look effortlessly stylish. Her smile seemed natural as she greeted us, though I caught a slight tremor in her hands. “As I told Juniper, certain parts of the winery are taped off due to yesterday’s…accident.”
My body stiffened, and I stopped walking. While I haven’t memorized the dictionary definition of accident, I’m pretty sure a corkscrew to the heart doesn’t qualify.
Juniper was easily chatting with Hannah, so she didn’t notice the comment’s effect. But Britt noticed and moved back to take my arm.
Right. Time to remember I was on an undercover mission and to ignore any stupid comments about Tasha’s death—even if Hannah suggested Tasha slipped on a banana peel and landed heart first on a corkscrew.
“Ready?” Britt asked.
I forced a smile. “Ready.”
Hannah brought us to a side door. “This will be a lot of fun,” she promised. “Just a reminder there’s sensitive equipment inside. Don’t touch the machinery, and never come here without a chaperone.”
She waited for us all to agree before she opened the winery door and led us inside.
The interior looked unsurprisingly like a winery. Mysterious machines were set up against one wall, while the space was predominantly rows of large metal vats filled with fermenting grapes.
At first I thought the room was nicely dim; then I realized I was wearing my sunglasses. It would have been great if I could wear them for this mission. They’re convenient for masking emotions. Unfortunately, sunglasses indoors is kind of taboo, and Hot Hannah might find it suspicious.
Hot Hannah was explaining the processes involved in making different types of wine. She went on and on about grape quality and the type of vats required. It was very dull. Even on a sleuthing mission, I had to hide a yawn.
When I’d known Tasha, she’d been getting a degree in psychology. What could she have uncovered at a winery that would lead to her death? And how would I find it?
We were continually steered clear of any sections near the yellow crime scene tape. But from what I could see, the tape didn’t go very far into the building from the massive garage doors that Tasha had stumbled out of.
Throughout the building were little electronic boxes with green lights. One light changed to yellow as I passed, emitting a low beep. Surprised, I stepped back, tripping into Brittany.
“You okay back there?” Juniper asked, though she didn’t sound very concerned.
“We’re fine,” I grumbled.
“Sorry,” Hannah said. “I should have warned you about the air-filtration sensors.”
Juniper and I shared a look, wordlessly asking if the other one knew what Hot Hannah was talking about. It was Brittany who was adult enough to ask, “What are the sensors for?”
“When grapes ferment, they produce carbon dioxide,” Hannah explained, her hands moving excitedly. “The boxes monitor the air and let our HVAC system know how much additional oxygen is needed.”
“Truly fascinating stuff,” Juniper said, managing to sound serious. No surprise she’d be the teacher’s pet.
I raised an eyebrow at Juniper, but Hot Hannah caught the motion, so I turned my face into a contemplative gaze. “This is an amazing setup. And to be able to work with your best friends must be…” I almost said a nightmare but stopped myself. “Must be great.”
Hannah’s eyes softened, and she cleared her throat. “Thank you. It was.”
Was.
The word hung in the air. The three of us all caught it, but Brittany and I remained silent since Juniper had the strongest powers of persuasion.
My sister batted her innocent doe eyes. “Was? Surely the winery will be all right.”
Hannah wiped under her eyes. I hadn’t noticed any tears, but her hands were definitely shaking.
“The winery was Rose’s,” she said, like it was some big secret that I hadn’t already figured out. “She’d been sick for a while and told us her affairs were all in order. We thought…or, I thought that meant…” Hannah shook her head. “But she left it all to her daughter. A child she’d never seen after giving the baby up for adoption.”
Whoa.
It suddenly made sense. Tasha had been adopted.
“That woman.” Hannah gestured in the direction of the crime scene tape. “She was the new owner.”
Juniper’s eyes had turned wide with surprise. “But I thought you didn’t know Natasha?”
Hannah shook her head. “I didn’t. They said Rose left the vineyard to her daughter, but I didn’t know it was that woman until this morning. Brad called Rose’s lawyer as soon as we found out.”
A headache began forming between my temples. Presumably from all the carbon dioxide I was inhaling.
“Poor Tasha,” Juniper said more to herself than anyone else.
It was the wrong thing to say. Hot Hannah’s face turned cold as she fixed her perfect blouse. “Really? Who was Natasha to Rose? The heart disease must have affected her mind. She wasn’t getting enough blood to her brain.”
Did that happen with heart disease? I glanced at Britt, but she was giving Hot Hannah her full attention.
“Her friends have been with her for decades. And Natasha? It’s not like they ever had a relationship. The baby was adopted as soon as she was born.”
“Of course,” Brittany said in her placating paramedic voice.
Hold on. Was Britt worried Hot Hannah would have a breakdown? I examined Hannah, but I wasn’t sure what to look for.
My hand rested on a guardrail by a set of stairs leading up to the tops of a row of stainless-steel tanks. “Can we look here?” I asked, hoping a change of subject would help—plus, I wanted a higher view of the winery.
“Not those!” Hannah’s words were so harsh, my hand flew off the railing like I’d been electrocuted.
Hannah tried to recover with a light laugh. “Sorry. Those tanks are for Rose’s Rosé. It’s our bestseller, and we’re a little paranoid about losing our trade secrets.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“Here.” Hannah led us to another set of metal stairs. “Let me show you the fermenting Pinot.”
Once we were up the stairs, we got an overhead view of the vats. These tanks didn’t have lids on them and were full of pulpy liquid that wasn’t the right color for wine.
“…Pinots have open tanks,” Hannah was explaining as she led us along the open containers filled with almost-magenta liquid, clumpy with all the mashed grapes.
“Why does it look funny?” Juniper asked.
Had my sister really just called fancy wine funny?
“That’s one of the colors it turns during the fermentation process,” Hannah said.
“Have you ever considered bottling it while it’s magenta?” I asked.
Hot Hannah’s nose came up. “No. The taste would be all wrong.”
What was I thinking trying to joke around with Hot Hannah? If the woman found anything humorous, it would probably be some centuries-old poet that I’d never heard of.
Juniper leaned over the railing to get a better look.
“Don’t inhale,” Hannah warned. “Breathing in the fumes makes people dizzy.”
Juniper stepped away from the railing, and we walked along the row.
“Now, over there”—Hannah pointed to a door in the back wall—“is where we store the bottled wine and experiment with new…” But my attention wasn’t on their storage room. Instead, I was looking at the row of rosé tanks. They seemed identical to all the other tanks. What had spooked Hot Hannah?
