a very ignorant lady referred to your paella as 'seafood rice.' What a philistine insult to a cultural monument! This paella is the culminating triumph of the baroque imagination, as expressed in the culinary arts." He sighed.
I couldn't help but smile. "I'm so pleased you enjoyed it," I said. "Have a sit down and a sip of my Petite Sirah—it'll tan your tongue into belt leather."
"That, I shall look forward to with great pleasure!" He kissed my hand and went back to his table under the trees.
I spent the rest of the afternoon mingling, chatting with guests, and making sure glasses were never empty. As the sun began to sink below the trees in a watercolor painting of pink, oranges, and delicate purples, guests started to trickle toward the driveway, making their way back to town or, in the case of those who had really enjoyed the tasting, calling cars to safely transport them home.
I watched Vivienne and her entourage readying to leave. Vivienne swayed unsteadily on her heels, Alison supporting her with one arm. I noted that Jenny was with them now, taking over the role as designated driver and slipping into the front of the car.
"I hope you enjoyed yourselves," I told Vivienne as I approached.
She nodded, her cheeks slightly flushed. "Quite. The winery is lovely, Emmy," she said, sweeping her arms toward the growing vines.
"Thank you," I told her sincerely. "I hope you keep us in mind for your next event."
She nodded. "Oh, be sure that I will," she said as David held the passenger door open for her. "Hector tells me the Sirah is in limited supply?"
I nodded. "Yes, but Hector's been growing more of that varietal, so we'll be making more limited batches."
She nodded. "Good to know."
It wasn't exactly an order, but I took it as interest.
She got into her seat, slightly less than graciously, and I watched David get into the back seat without so much as a look my direction. If I had to guess, he'd long ago hit his limit of small talk with his mother's crowd.
I waved goodbye to Jenny as I watched the car slide away down the avenue into the gathering dusk.
I found Ava in the kitchen, her heels on the floor beside her as she nibbled bits of leftover flan.
"They gone yet?" she asked.
I nodded. "The lingerers are leaving now. I think Vivienne might have been the last holdout. But," I added hopefully, "she seemed to have enjoyed herself."
Ava held her hand up to slap me a high five. "Nicely done!"
"I couldn't have done it without you," I told her.
"That's true." Ava nodded. "I'm exhausted. How do you think it went?"
I crossed my fingers. "So far so good. I guess we'll really know when booking orders start coming in."
"I saw Bradley scarfing paella like it was going out of style," she said, scooping a bit of caramel up with her index finger. "I hope that means he's planning a good review."
"Ditto." I peeked into the almost empty pan and dipped a finger full of caramel myself. "How did things go at the Price-Pennington table?"
"Now there's a stoic bunch." Ava rolled her eyes. "Lots of pleasantries and small talk. Tennis, bridge, the latest gossip from the club, repeat."
"Any of it about the Sirah?"
Ava nodded. "Chas certainly seemed to like it. I think he was getting a bit tipsy as he told me about his golf handicap," she added.
"The wine wasn't the only thing he seemed to like." I shot her a grin.
"He's a married man, Emmy."
"Who had a healthy appreciation for your cleavage."
"He was admiring my pendant," Ava protested.
"Sure."
Ava gave me a friendly punch in the shoulder. "Please. You know I'm not into the country club set. He's not my type."
I raised an eyebrow her way. "That's not what you said when he pulled up in the sports car."
"Okay, okay. I'll admit, he's hot."
"Even I would admit that," I said, ignoring how long it had been since I'd been with a hot guy.
"But he's so pretentious. Every other word was a name drop. I swear the conversation was specifically designed to make me feel intimidated by his enormous…"
My other eyebrow rose.
"…ego," she finished with a sweet smile.
I laughed. "Well, as long as his wife had a good time—"
"And books her next corporate event here," Ava cut in.
"—and buys a few cases of Sirah, that's all that matters."
"I'm sure she did, and I hope she will," Ava told me, licking her finger.
I left Ava in the kitchen and made my way to the tasting bar, where I helped Jean Luc with the remains of the party. An hour later, we had the big cleanup done, and the day caterers had been paid, thanked, and tipped for their hard work. Conchita had put away the last of the heavy cast-iron pans, and Hector had doused the outside fires.
I made my rounds, locking doors, turning out lights, and shutting the main buildings down for the evening. I bid Jean Luc good night and closed the tasting room, then made my way to the cave to secure the cellar.
I was just about to throw the big toggle switch that controlled all the lights, when something caught my eye. A broken wineglass sat on the red clay tiles across the room, where rows of oak barrels stood under sandstone arches. I frowned. No one was supposed to be drinking down here. I crossed the room, my heels clacking on the floor as I passed the foot of an old vertical hundred-gallon barrel once used for aging Zinfandel.
Just on the other side, I spied the guilty party. Slumped on the floor sat the drunken blond godling, Chas Pennington. I swallowed down annoyance at the idea Chas thought he could help himself to our private reserves. Especially after guzzling the Petite Sirah as he had.
"Mr. Pennington?" I called. "We need to get you up now."
No response.
"Mr. Pennington?" I said louder. I leaned forward and jostled his shoulder, causing his head to loll backward.
I stifled a gasp as his face turned toward mine. His eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling in an unseeing gaze, his lips blue, his skin ice cold.
Chas Pennington wasn't dead drunk…he was just dead.
A SIP BEFORE DYING
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