Napa Noir, page 21
His eyes glistening with emotion, Muñoz said, “Don’t say that. It’s not true. God loved her and took her to His home.”
Chapter 30
The next day, Dante waited in Carmen’s living room.
“What am I supposed to bring?” Carmen asked from her bedroom.
“Whatever you want,” Dante said, still a little agitated from his visit with Muñoz the day before. It was Saturday morning, and he’d agreed to be at Tercero’s winery and weekend house for lunch. “They have a pool. We’ll eat well. Alex is something of a gourmand. Something casual, but nice for a dinner out. I don’t know.”
“A pool? A nice dinner?”
“C’mon,” Dante said. “Let’s go.”
Carmen disappeared into her walk-in closet. Dante sighed, stepped into the bedroom, and sat on her bed, where Carmen had laid a bright pink and green overnight bag.
“Bring a swimsuit, if you want to sun yourself, shorts, a dress, and a nice blouse or two,” he said.
“Really?”
“And whatever else you want.” He watched as she carefully folded a couple of items and slipped them into the bag.
Finished, she turned to him with a worried look. “Are you sure about this?”
“What do you mean?”
“About this weekend.”
Dante tried to decipher her question. “You mean us?”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to meet your mother and her longtime boyfriend.”
Dante took her hand and leaned close for a kiss. Carmen turned away, giving him only a cheek. He kissed it lightly. Dante held her hand as she sat on the bed. “Look at it like this. We’ve know each other for a short while, but we get along very well, don’t we?”
Carmen dropped her gaze and pursed her lips in thought. “Yes.”
“And with all that’s happened lately, you don’t want to be left alone in this house while I go away for the weekend.”
“Yes, but…”
“So, we spend time together in a really nice place. It’ll take your mind off all of the shooting and everything else.”
“It’s just that….”
“What?”
Carmen pursed her lips.
“Is it me?” Dante asked. “You’re afraid it’s too fast?”
“It’s not you. Maybe I’m not ready to jump into this.”
Dante looked at her, pondering. “Okay. The place isn’t far. If at any time you feel uncomfortable and want to leave, just say so. We will. We’ll jump in the car and go.”
Carmen’s eyes brightened, looking relieved. “Are you sure? Won’t it be rude to just up and leave?”
“Don’t worry,” Dante said. “We can find an excuse. We’ll say you’re not feeling well. Whatever.”
“You won’t be mad at me?”
“Not at all.”
Carmen leaned against him, slipping her an arm around his neck. “You’re sweet.” She kissed him. Dante pulled her close, but Carmen put her hands on his chest, resisting his embrace, and said, “I need to finish packing.”
Dante smiled, pleased she’d acquiesced, and stepped into the kitchen where Carmen had left an opened bottle of cabernet. He pulled the stopper and poured himself a small glass.
“Starting a little early, aren’t you?” she said from the middle of the living room. “Are you the one who’s nervous now?”
Dante lowered his glass and ignored her remark. “It’s the weekend. You want a glass?”
“I can wait,” Carmen said. “We’ll be at the winery in less than an hour.”
Dante drank from his glass. “Have you been to Alex Estates?”
Carmen shook her head. “There’re a lot of boutique wineries in the Russian River Valley. I haven’t visited them all.”
Dante gazed, admiring her figure. She wore tan pleated culottes extending just below her knee, covering the wide gauze and flesh-colored elastic bandage that encircled her thigh. Her ensemble was completed with a burgundy cotton blouse and gold sandals. Her beret sat tilted on her head, covering her scalp so you wouldn’t know a bandage was under it. The dark stubble of her returning hair was now evident, and her brown eyes glowed like glassy chestnuts. The bag was at her feet.
“How do I look?”
“Great. Let’s go.”
Once in the car, they rode in silence, Dante’s mind drifting back to his story. No suspects in Carmen’s shooting had surfaced, according to Sonoma County sheriff, despite the man’s insistence his department had cast a wide net, meaning he wasn’t really sure where to look. The Ling murder was still an open case, the Napa district attorney had told him. Dante surmised the DA could not do much more with the Morrison-Ling case and had yet to make a decision about filing charges, if any. Against whom? Dante wondered.
Dante was having a hard time thinking of himself as an independent journalist, a lone ranger in the news business. His instincts were to go to the newsroom, meet with Jones, and decide what to do. But no more meetings with Jones. Forcing himself to take on his new role, he’d sent out a shotgun blast of emails, querying a host of Bay Area news outlets about carrying his column.
In the meantime, since Ellsworth had given him the rights, he’d created a new website and posted a couple of brief updates on the Ling-Morrison murder story. It was more fun than he’d thought. He realized he was free to write what he knew to be true, as well as what he thought about it all.
He’d written a speculative piece positing a connection between the two deaths and the shooting of Carmen Carelli, but stopped short of reaching a definitive conclusion, which could be suicide in the news business. By writing what he suspected to be true, but couldn’t prove, he could later say he’d first speculated about the truth before anyone else. If it all played out like he thought, he could use his foresight to market his newly independent wine blog. He knew there was a connection, and the DA probably did as well, but Dante knew he was the only one who was writing about the connection publically.
Carmen had pushed her car seat back, placing her left foot on the dashboard and over the crutch she had wedged beside her seat. Dante glanced at her painted toenails and traced the line of her leg to the edge of her split skirt now hiked up over her knee. The beret sat tilted on her head, strategically covering the head wound. His attention was jarred back to the road when he hit the shoulder, the car rumbling and bouncing before he brought it back onto the pavement.
Carmen frowned. “Pay attention to the road. You have precious cargo.”
Dante felt a knot growing in his stomach as the reality of the weekend loomed. He was nervous about bringing Carmen to Tercero’s wine estate and tried to convince himself this was not a grand introduction of a new relationship. So, what is it? He still didn’t have an answer. It had been a year since he’d been involved with anyone. Carmen was smart, aggressive, and voracious. Yes, it had been fast.
He was overdue for a relationship. So, what’s the big deal about this weekend? Why am I nervous? Maybe he was more excited about Carmen than he cared to admit. She was a tiger in her own right, though she’d had a rough go of it lately. What was the attraction? She was not a stray, but a polished, reserved, educated woman like others who tended to populate the wine world. Maybe even a bit dangerous. He liked that.
Dante had convinced himself this weekend was a quick getaway, an overnighter with a friend. Nothing more. Still, the knot in his stomach tightened as he braked and turned onto the road at a carved wooden sign: Alex Estates. A tree-lined, paved road wound between vineyards and ended at a small parking lot where Dante stopped and turned off the engine. He drew a deep breath, trying to tamp down his anxiety.
“I still don’t know if this is a good idea,” Carmen said.
Dante frowned. It was too late to turn back. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. C’mon. Let’s check out the winery.”
They climbed out of the Mustang and into brilliant sunshine. The sky was clear, and the heat was softened by a light breeze. Dante shaded his eyes to survey the place. The vines looked strong and healthy, well maintained, the leaves wriggling in the wind.
This was the Russian River Valley viticulture area, Dante reminded himself, and Tercero’s winery was in the Green Valley sub-district, perfect for its prized lighter wines. Tercero’s winery looked perfect, almost too perfect.
A rectangular building rose across the parking lot, and beyond it were barnlike structures Dante guessed housed the working part of the winery. The winery was built in rustic Northern California style with pitched and shingled roofs. Dante eyed an asphalt drive curving past the tasting room and barns and up a hillside to where a two-story home provided a commanding view of the vineyards and the hills beyond. No wonder his mother loved to come to Tercero’s estate to paint the vineyards.
Dante held Carmen’s left hand as she leaned on the crutch under her right arm so she didn’t put weight on her wounded right leg. They crossed the parking lot to the tasting room.
The floor inside was stone tile, the walls of decorative wood with thick varnished beams overhead. Paintings adorned the walls.
“My mother’s work,” Dante said, motioning to the unframed canvases. Beside each was white, hand-lettered price card, as if in a gallery. They stepped closer to a seascape, the beach cutting across the painting at an angle, waves pounding the sand, gulls gliding overhead. A solitary couple walked in the distance, hand-in-hand. The scene made him feel lonely.
“I like it,” Carmen said.
Low tables and padded chairs made from finished barrel staves filled a corner of the tasting room, along with the obligatory racks of winery wear. Displays of the various Alex Estate vintages gleamed in the glow of overhead lights. Dante liked it. He liked it all.
Dante’s phone rang. He pulled it from his back pocket and looked at the screen. “My mother,” he said, placing the phone to his ear.
“Where are you?” Antonia asked.
“In the tasting room.”
“Why?” she said. “We’ve got plenty of wine up here. And lunch. We’re waiting.”
Chapter 31
Tercero’s multi-car garage had several open bays. Dante parked in one and climbed out. He took Carmen’s bag in one hand and waited as she adjusted her beret and drew a deep breath. Doubt spread across her face, but she stepped forward unsteadily, yet with determination.
“Don’t worry,” he said, mustering as much confidence as he could. Even so, anxiety gripped his chest as he climbed the several steps to a varnished wooden front door, which opened just as he raised his hand to knock.
Antonia filled the doorway, greeting them with a wide smile, holding a glass of white wine in one hand and her vape in the other. “Oh, hello, dear,” she said, leaning forward to peck Dante on the cheek. She slipped her vape into the pocket of her jeans and extended her hand. “This must be Carmen!” Antonia took her left hand. “So nice to meet you.”
Antonia turned to Dante and smiled. “She’s a sweetheart!” she said, then whispered to Dante, “and part of the Carelli family, no less,” loud enough for Carmen to hear.
“Mama, please.”
“Leave the bag there for now,” Antonia instructed. “You can get settled later. Lunch awaits.”
Dante glanced at Carmen, rolled his eyes, and followed Antonia down a short hall and into a gourmet kitchen with a broad granite-topped kitchen island topped by a built-in sink and stovetop. A couple of bottles of chilled chardonnay sat on the island, wet with beads of moisture.
A stout, dark-complexioned woman with a woven braid of black and white hair trailing down her back turned from the counter and smiled. She had a kind face, creased with age, and used the back of her hand to brush errant hair from her forehead. “This is Maria,” Antonia said. “She helps us here on the weekends. She’s a wonderful cook, as you will soon find out.”
“Hola,” she said, turning back to the counter and to mixing. Something struck Dante about the woman’s appearance. He didn’t know why, but he was having a moment of déjá vu. His gaze lingered as he searched his memory, following Antonia outside.
They passed through opened French doors to the patio where Tercero stood beside a table shaded with a large, rectangular canvas umbrella and covered with four place settings and a collection of covered serving dishes. Tercero wore pleated khakis shorts and a white polo with the Alex Estates logo embroidered in burgundy. He smiled broadly as he took Carmen’s hand in his and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Carmen, it’s so nice to see you again,” he said, stepping back to take in her figure with a distinctly lustful gleam in his eye. “Please, have a seat.” Tercero motioned to the empty chairs.
“I assume you like chardonnay,” Antonia said, pulling a bottle from a chrome ice bucket and filling their glasses. After replenishing hers and Alex’s as well, she shoved the bottle back into the ice as Dante and Carmen settled into the cushioned wooden chairs at the oval table, inset with granite.
“Well,” Tercero said, lifting his glass, “let’s toast to Carmen, a courageous survivor and shooter!”
“Thank you,” Carmen said, a slight blush coloring her face. “I was just trying to stay alive.” She lifted her glass and sipped.
“We’re so glad you did,” Tercero said.
“And to a relaxing weekend,” Antonia chimed in, lifted her glass in the air, and took a long drink.
Tercero lifted the cover to a shallow metal platter filled with oysters on the half shell, arranged around a small bowl piled with lemon wedges, all sitting on a bed of crushed ice. “Here we have a couple dozen of Tomales Bay oysters. The best there is around here.” Tercero grabbed a couple of the lemon wedges, one in each hand, and squeezed juice over them.
Dante swirled his wine, sniffed and sipped, letting the chilled wine linger on his tongue. He looked at his glass thoughtfully. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
Tercero smiled. “That means you like it?”
“Yes, it does,” Dante said. “A bit oaky, but it doesn’t overpower the wine. I get flavors of vanilla, peach, and citrus. Nicely balanced.”
“Please, Dante,” Antonia said. “Are we going to hear wine talk all weekend?”
Tercero snorted. “Antonia! This is your son, and a newly independent wine critic. Let him talk!”
Antonia settled back, took a drag on her vape, and exhaled a small puff of white vapor.
“I age it in American oak for a couple of years,” Tercero said. “Some people don’t like the oak. But I do. It’s a personal thing, I guess.” He took a sip. “Help yourself to oysters,” he said to Carmen.
Carmen smiled and placed several on her plate. “I love these,” she said, “But of course, I don’t have them often enough.”
“I quite agree, you can never get enough as far as I’m concerned,” Tercero said. “They’re one of life’s little pleasures.”
“They’re a notorious aphrodisiac, you know,” Antonia said. “But Alex doesn’t really need it,” she added with a mischievous grin, glancing at Tercero.
“Ha!” Carmen said, an amused smile coming to her lips.
“It’s an old wives’ tale, as far as I’m concerned,” Tercero said.
“No, it’s true,” Carmen said. “Researchers have found oysters contain amino acids that trigger the production of sex hormones.”
“I wouldn’t know,” Dante said with a shrug.
“They’re cold, slimy, and tasteless,” Antonia said. “But they’re no worse than other things I’ve had in my mouth.”
“Antonia!” Tercero said. “Please.”
Dante knew Antonia was on her way to getting high. As she had aged, the more she drank, the less restrained she had become. He’d grown accustomed to her crudities, but at times like this, her outbursts took him aback.
“I meant food,” Antonia said, with a wry smile. “Actually, if I have to eat oysters, I prefer the barbecued oysters, the ones they roast on a grill and douse in barbecue sauce.”
“We can have Maria grill them, if you want.”
“Nope. I’m good with these slimy things as long as there’s plenty of hot sauce around.” Antonia put three glistening oyster shells on a small plate and doused each with hot sauce. She lifted a shell, and using a fork to ease one of the oysters into her mouth, chewed and swallowed. She followed it with a drink of wine and wiggled a finger at Carmen. “Go on! Your turn!”
Carmen smiled at Antonia. “Nicely done.”
Carmen took an oyster from the tray, dashed each with a spot of hot sauce, and let one slide off the shell into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and blinked at Dante. “Not much to them, actually.” Carmen glanced at Antonia. “You’re right. It’s no worse than other things I’ve swallowed.”
“Ha!” Antonia said, slapping the table with a grin on her face. “I like her already. A kindred spirit!”
Tercero smiled weakly and with a quick shrug, tried to dismiss the comments. “So, how are you doing?” Tercero asked Carmen, trying to change the subject.
Carmen self-consciously patted the beret covering her head wound and gingerly adjusted her bandaged right leg under the table. “Much better. The doctors say they’ll remove the bandages on my head in another few days. The bullet took a chunk of flesh from my thigh. So I’ll be looking at a scar for the rest of my life.”
“Will it be bad?” Antonia asked, taking a drag on her vape from the side of her mouth.
“Bullets tend to leave their mark,” Carmen said.
“I think it’d be quite the conversation starter,” Antonia said, a smile spread across her face.
“Mama, leave the poor woman alone,” Dante said.
Tercero uncovered a bowl of creamy coleslaw and motioned for Carmen to help herself. “This is crab and coleslaw salad. You’ll like it.”
Carmen was about to speak when Antonia raised her hand. “Wait! I think I sense something.”
