A Tainted Finish: A Sydney McGrath Mystery (17 page)

The women rolled back into the driveway, only to find a massive 18-wheeler blocking the road. Olivier and Jim were loading barrels from the semi into the back of the ancient winery flatbed truck, working together in silence. The 18-wheeler couldn’t make it up the steep gravel road to the winery, and the forklift could not be driven on gravel. The ritual of unloading barrels and large pallets of bottles in the middle of the driveway had become a common event at the winery. The two women got out of the car and watched the men for a moment before Syd swung her leg up and climbed up into the container of the delivery truck. She started to roll out barrels wrapped in plastic wrap with the driver. She counted a dozen more with
Blackwell
written in blue marker on the plastic.

She rolled the barrels expertly, end over end. She stopped each barrel when it reached the lip of the truck, where she eased it down to the two men standing ready. Olivier grabbed the barrel end by the head, and Jim caught the other end as they took the weight off the trailer. They hoisted the barrel onto the flatbed behind them while Charlie righted it on the barrel heads in the flatbed. They managed to unload over a dozen barrels in less than ten minutes. Syd dropped down from the container onto the gravel, feeling dizzy. She steadied herself on the bumper. She looked up to see Olivier watching her with a frown. Charlie and Jim were glaring openly at each other, the silent hostility with which they worked for the last few minutes now in danger of breaking into a screaming match.

“I'll sign it,” Syd said in an overly cheerful voice when the driver presented the invoice to the Sheriff. Apparently, the driver was as unnerved by the Sheriff unloading barrels as they were. Syd felt sorry for Jim for a moment, always intimidating people before he got a chance to show his sweet side. But at the moment, he wasn't exactly making friends.

She walked back over to the flatbed after chatting with the driver. There she found Charlie and Jim snarling at each other through clenched teeth. They were equally matched, as far as she could see. All three stood on the flatbed, working the barrels close together for the short ride up the gravel drive to the winery.

“I said to
stay out
of trouble, young lady,” Jim growled as he butted the barrels closer together with demonstrative violence. Syd jumped up into the bed with them and timidly helped Olivier with the ratcheting straps.

“Face it, Dad. Becky wasn’t going to tell you all this stuff. We
helped
you. Besides, you were too busy looking in the wrong place.” Charlie stood with her hands on her hips. Olivier adjusted the barrels that Jim moved into place gently and in silence, keeping his head down.

“I would have taken her in for questioning if she wouldn't talk to me,” he growled.

“Nice, because she deserves that. Her boss tells her to stay quiet and he nearly gets himself killed. And then her office gets trashed by some maniac. And what do the cops do? They take her away in a cruiser. And you wonder why the general populace loves ya’, Dad.” Charlie stared her father down, almost eye to eye.

“I would have asked her nicely,” he sneered back at her, but he was losing steam.

“Right. Interrogating the victim is a nice thing to do.” Charlie smiled, aware she was gaining the upper hand.

“Yeah, well I'm trying to keep you girls from being victims too.”

“Are there any girls here, Dad? Because as far as I can see, Syd and I are two grown women. We’re in our thirties for fuck sake.” Charlie smiled to soften the blow, but Jim looked truly beaten.

Syd finished tying off the loose end of the strap and patted Jim on the back. She suspected that Charlie had gained them enough ground to warrant their participation in the investigation for a few hours at least. Jim was crestfallen that his girls had accused him of being patronizing or over-protective. Syd guessed that Charlie would play it out as long as she could, but their time was limited. In the meantime, she would have to play along with Charlie and let Jim brood a bit. She stepped toward Olivier to help with the last strap.

“Why are the barrels so late?” she asked.

“The cooperage in Napa was behind. And then I postponed the delivery last week. I forgot the truck was coming today.” He avoided her eyes and looked toward Jim.

“It's blocking the cruiser, at least,” she smiled back at him. “And the way to the airport, in case you were planning on flying out of here.”

Olivier closed his eyes and shook his head. “So the fact that I flew here and stopped for a day before I flew up north makes me a murderer?” He looked tired and weary. She regretted saying anything.

“I have no idea what to think, Olivier. I don't know anything about you. All that I know is that you’re busting your ass to hold this harvest together in all of this chaos. And I’m grateful for that. I'm going to try to help more, I promise.”

“You might have to. He asked me down to the station. I don't know what that means.” he said, looking a bit lost.

“Well, Charlie just bought you some time. And I need help unloading these barrels.”

“Okay. So who buys a forklift that can't go in gravel?” he teased, looking relieved.

“A man who’s too cheap to trade in for a better model.” she answered.

“Or one who’s too sentimental to get rid of the one his daughter painted.”

“Niece,” she said, correcting him. But she knew that he made the mistake on purpose.

~

After they unloaded the barrels up on the crushpad, they all stood around leaning on the barrels. Jim listened to Charlie and Syd recount the details of their conversation with Becky and Paul with surprising patience and interest. He entertained their theories with equal patience. However, he drew the line when it came to his visit to Hans Feldman later that afternoon. He was going alone. He made the girls promise to stay put. They had no intention of interfering with the questioning at any rate, so it wasn’t difficult to comply, although Charlie made a show of it anyway. Syd was beginning to understand the complexity of the dance that Charlie could play with her father when she needed to. Charlie handled the man with deft manipulation, without compromising his feelings or best intentions. She managed to turn him around by the time he had left them, unconsciously bolstering his fragile paternalism with genuine affection. Syd marveled at their relationship.

After Jim steered his cruiser down the driveway, the women strolled down back to the house and rummaged through the refrigerator for beers.

“Do you think your dad will take him in?” Syd asked.

“Take who where?” Charlie asked, opening a beer and shuffling into the living room.

“Feldman to the Sheriff's station,” Syd said impatiently.

“Oh. Maybe, yeah.” She frowned again and plopped down onto the couch.

“At least Olivier’s safe to do punchdowns tonight,” Syd joked. “I'm so weak I might faint.”

“Mmhmm,” Charlie mumbled, sipping her beer.

“Okay, where are you, Charlie?” Syd asked.

“Something Marcus said to me last night,” she said, pausing in thought as she sipped her beer. Syd waited patiently for Charlie to finish. “It's probably nothing. You should call him though. Maybe share your dreams with him?” she teased.

Syd blushed in spite of herself.

Jim returned to the house frustrated. He and Charlie were discussing his visit with Hans Feldman at the table when Syd came looking for the voices that had awakened her from a nap. She had gone to bed that afternoon with a throbbing headache and a painful throat. She may have napped for a few hours. She woke up with a large pool of saliva on her pillow and a dry mouth. Her sinuses were as stuffed up as ever, and she had to breathe with her mouth open in her sleep. Jim and Charlie sat with plates, beers, and a few paper bags of food. Syd's mouth watered as she sat down with them. She was grateful for the burritos and spicy hot sauce from her favorite taco stand, compliments of the contrite man in uniform. Syd listened as she took a seat and loaded her plate. She popped the top off a sour beer.

“But can Han’s wife give a real alibi?” Charlie asked between bites of a juicy taco.

“Yeah.”

“But what if she's lying?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah,” he answered, taking a large bite of his burrito.

They all sat chewing and swigging beers in silence.

“Does he know Paul’s looking into the medical report now?” Syd asked.

“I didn't say anything about Paul, but I can imagine Feldman has a clue. I kept our conversation to his visit to Jack. The threats he made. I didn't let on that I knew anything about the medical report.”

“Did he tell you about the meeting in Ted's vineyard last Sunday?” Syd asked. “What was that about?”

“Yup. Another investment opportunity. And Jack’s in on it too, you know. Same cast of characters as your uncle's takeover. Another buyout of a vineyard, plus the building of a winery this time. Feldman lined up the same buyer for a different opportunity up here. He seems pretty business savvy.” Jim didn't mean it as a compliment.

“Another corporate buyout in a small AVA. They’re going to own it all soon enough.” Charlie spat out bitterly.

“Well, it certainly explains Feldman's need to keep that insurance policy,” Syd said. “And maybe the urgency to collect. Maybe he needed the cash to fund the investment?”

“I haven't checked into his bank records yet. I've got phone records to check up on too. Airport records from Canada are slow coming.” He shoved back his chair and gathered up the mess of wrappers and hot sauce cups. He left to throw away the trash and came back to collect the plates.

“Airport records?” Jim nodded at her through a scowl. Syd winced. “Thanks for dinner, Jim.”

“Yup,” he answered with a nod and disappeared back into the kitchen. The silence was heavy when he walked back in, his boots scraping the floor.

“You ladies take care tonight. Lock up.” He let out a resigned breath. “I don't think it’s a good idea to have Olivier in the house tonight, Syd. I agree that he’s most likely not a threat to you, but I’ve been wrong before.” He walked toward the kitchen door, clearly reluctant to leave. “Lock this behind me!” He jabbed his thumb at the deadbolt with a dark frown and closed the door behind him, his jaw set in a hard line.

Her phone buzzed on the table. The vibration moved it into the beer bottle sweat collected on the surface throughout the evening. Syd glanced at the caller ID while Charlie and Alejandro snickered and exchanged knowing looks over their poker hands.

“Maybe you should answer that,” Alejandro said for the fifth time that night. All of them knew it was Marcus. Alejandro’s empathy obviously lay with the jilted lover, Syd thought to herself. But was she really jilting Marcus? She told herself that she was merely waiting until she had a better answer for the question that he asked in nearly every text and email and phone message. She didn't really know when she was coming home or even if she was coming back.

“I replied to his text earlier,” she said defensively. But it wasn’t much of a text; she had only written that she had been ill and she was feverish. She knew it was a lame excuse for her silence over the past three days. She wrapped the quilt tighter around herself.

“Go to bed if you’re cold,” Charlie scolded. She was annoyed at Syd's nose blowing and general sobriety. Syd hadn't felt much like drinking with them, and Charlie was well into her fifth beer. Charlie hated being in a room with sober people when she was tipsy.

“I'm not tired. I took too long of a nap,” Syd answered, lying to them. Really, in spite of her big talk, she was too frightened to go to sleep. It was after midnight and she jumped at nearly every sound outside. She was questioning whether Charlie and Alejandro could offer much protection so far into their cups. She regretted the ban on Olivier, alone in his trailer out there.

“So how does a big white dummy like this Marcus guy get to hang out with our Syd anyway?” Alejandro asked.

“Tsk, tsk, Alejandro,” Charlie said. “Marcus is a very important person. He teaches young people about wine distribution and marketing and stuff. And I've got a straight.” She lay out her cards and reached for the small cluster of quarters and nickels.

“Sounds like an ordinary schoolteacher to me,” Alejandro said, He shuffled again and pitched out the cards.

“Oh, no,” said Charlie. “He rubs shoulders with all the biggies in the industry. He's the golden boy of Seattle. Friends with editors, critics, and somms all over. He was looking mighty fancy last night in his tuxedo. All the cheerleaders were fawning. He looked a little lost without Syd though,” she added, thoughtfully. “None of his cronies were there really. The old guard was all sitting in the other room, and Marcus usually has a way in with Joe Donner. But he wasn’t there either.”

“Why no Joe Donner?” Syd asked from under her quilt.

“Oh, I wouldn't let him go until he finished his homework, Syd,” she answered in a Mom voice. “How the fuck should I know?” The hyperbole was enough to fool Alejandro into a chuckle, but Syd knew Charlie was holding back.

“Joe would
never
miss a chance to hold court,” Syd said. “That's interesting.” Syd left the bait dangling and she watched Charlie squirm in her semi-drunk state.

“Marcus thought so too,” Charlie broke.

“Why would Marcus think so?” Syd asked.

“Because Marcus said Joe Donner had called him the day before to see if you and he were going, that's why. He told Marcus he might do a piece on females inheriting wineries.”

“Good timing. Three days after the memorial,” Alejandro said. “Wait a minute. Is that the Joe Donner I took a video of last winter? The one taking bribes from Francois for reviews?” He faked ignorance. “What a fucking weasel. Your boyfriend hangs out with
that guy,
Syd? Never mind. Don't answer your phone.” Alejandro clucked his tongue in total disgust.

“Oh, that's right. I forgot you took that video,” Charlie said approvingly, “right on,
ese
!” She gave Alejandro a high five, which he reciprocated in an elaborate secret handshake that ended with a fist bump and Charlie's wet fake explosion sound effects, which sprayed all over the table. Alejandro giggled like a girl.

“Great,” Syd said, shoving herself from the table and shuffling into the kitchen. She was going to have to face her dark room alone, but not without one more dose of flu syrup. She looked warily out the window into the darkness.

“Yup,” Charlie said loudly from the other room, her voice echoing throughout the house. “Do you know how Joe and Marcus got to be friends? Joe's dad is a mechanic. Joe grew up in a mechanic's shop. A few years back he helped Marcus in the school parking lot. Marcus drives a classic Jag, some old ‘60s model, but he’s retarded with machines. Kind of useless all around, actually.” She stole a look at Syd. “But Joe can fix anything. Anyway, Marcus and Joe have been buds ever since. Marcus helped Joe get his introductions a while ago. He helped him in his first level somm tests too. For a while they were inseparable. Total bromance. They hung out at ball games, shooting ranges, pool halls, and killing small animals. You know, guy things. Only they got cooler when Marcus started dating Syd.
Joe hates Syd.
” Charlie fake-whispered loudly.

“Yeah, well, Marcus has shitty taste in friends,” Alejandro said.

“But if you ask me Joe couldn't have found a better friend himself. Marcus is obtuse and enjoys being flattered, and if Joe’s anything he is a sycophant to the right set of guys. The frat boy types all hang out and stroke each other’s egos, a circle jerk of male congratulation. And there’s no better set than a bunch of male winemakers and somms. Joe wanted in on that. He went from a nobody to an honorary frat boy on Marcus's coattails. Marcus is the natural prince of the wine world, all easy and entitled. But Joe had to scratch his way into it all. And now he writes a syndicated column on wine.
Syndicated
. Someone recently told me he’s one of the most read critics in the country. He’s really risen to the top. I have to give him that.” Charlie pitched her hand in and pushed the small pot of coins to Alejandro.

“By taking bribes for his scores,” Alejandro muttered under his breath. Charlie sniggered and collected the cards.

“So why would he miss the launch then?” Syd asked, popping her head out of the kitchen. “He
is
the most ambitious man in the industry. Why would he miss that launch?” She pulled at the skin on her lip as she leaned against the door.

“And why was he at that meeting with Feldman and Bertrand the day Clarence was killed?” Charlie muttered under her breath to Alejandro. He shrugged, took a swig from his nearly empty beer, and frowned into his cards.

~

Syd slept for five hours without interruption in spite of her fears. She woke up early and realized instantly that she felt much better. Her head wasn't throbbing and her throat was only a bit sore. She was fully stuffed up though. She got up to make a Neti Pot to clear her sinuses.

The house was gray in the predawn glow when she crept into the kitchen to boil water for coffee. She passed Charlie, who lay wrapped up in a Hudson Bay wool blanket on the couch, her long limbs painfully tucked into her body, curled up like a frozen spider. She didn't want to wake Charlie after last night's attempt at guarding the homestead. Charlie needed as much guarding as she did, and she was looking worse for the wear after so many nights of drinking and worrying.

She made the coffee as quietly as possible, finding grinds in a Weck jar. She was grateful to make coffee without starting the noisy grinder and waking up Charlie. Clarence would often grind up coffee and put it in a jar to bring up to the winery for the espresso maker in the lab. He would drink small espressos in demitasse while working on lab samples, puttering mostly. He was always happy in the lab.

Syd ventured back into her room, yanked the quilt off of her bed, and wrapped it around herself. She shuffled out onto the deck with her steaming mug. She let her mind wander to images of Clarence sipping his coffee and managing titrations with one hand. He wore prescription safety glasses in the lab, which made his eyes look huge and buggy. When she was little she would sit on a random plastic crate marked with blue painter's tape as
tartaric acid
or
Potassium Metabisulfite
and watch him with awe.

Syd smiled unconsciously while her mind drifted into memories of Clarence. She hadn't thought about Clarence in the lab for a decade. Or Clarence's little rituals of making bread, or his habit of humming to himself while he worked in the garden with his tomatoes. She had spent so much time remembering those things that annoyed her. She had allowed herself to be consumed with resentment that tore a hole in their relationship. Now, she felt a dark hole in her chest while she wondered how a person could forgive herself for such a tragic mistake.

She wandered along the deck this way, lost in her memories and feeling safer with the dawning light than she felt the night before. The air was crisp and smelled of slightly rotting wet leaves. It was too cold to be outside in pajamas and a blanket, but Syd sat down on one of the Adirondack chairs and watched the morning come anyway. She could see her breath and she warmed herself by keeping her face under the blanket. She curled her legs up under herself, sitting like a ball in the Adirondack. She felt oddly like she was floating in a tiny dingy in the damp fog, an insignificant ball of fluff with a head cold. She was sitting perfectly still when she heard the shuffle of feet on gravel a short distance from the house, straining to discern friend or foe. She relaxed after a moment, and let herself breathe again.

She heard Olivier's approach and listened for him opening the kitchen door. She kept her head under the blanket. He went inside for a moment, presumably to get some coffee, and then came out again. He walked over to her and pulled a chair next to her. The creaking of the chair subsided as he got comfortable. He sat silently next to her.

She took several sips of the coffee she nursed under the blanket, warming her face on the steam. He sat silent and still next to her, waiting for her to say something. But she hardly knew what to say or think. She found herself in the rare position of being completely unsure of her instincts. She was usually confident in her judgments, but with Olivier she was constantly lost in a fog. She would rather follow her head and logically deduce her thoughts and behaviors accordingly. And if she did, she knew she'd likely agree with Jim. However, her instincts told her that his footsteps were not a threat to her. Her instincts told her he was here to help her. Her instincts told her he was perhaps her greatest ally. Still, the more she attempted to extricate him from her suspicions, the more he seemed to get tangled up in them. And he remained silent amid all of it. He worked in the winery and held her world together while she crumpled into a million pieces on a daily bases.

“Good morning,” she said. Her muffled greeting emerged from beneath the quilt. He didn't reply. She waited for a response and poked her head out from under the quilt.

“Good morning,” he replied, looking her in the eyes. He gave a succinct nod and turned to look out at the fog on the river.

“You’re up early,” she said, filling the uncomfortable silence. She felt rude and unaccommodating. She could just make out his faint scent, which mingled with the autumn air and the coffee. Her stomach grew nervous. He nodded again and sipped his coffee.

“It looks like it will clear up today,” she said.
Oh, god! I’m talking about the weather!
She tucked her head back under the quilt, confounded at her awkwardness.

“It will be colder. We will need to heat up the winery,” he said. His chair groaned with his shifting weight. She found it oddly comforting that he moved in his seat. She peaked from beneath the quilt.

“Are we pressing soon?” she asked. “How many ferments do we have left?”

“We will press today. The Zinfandel. We have thirteen tanks left to press off.”

“How’s the Tempranillo?” She knew not much could have changed in less than 24 hours.

“Too early to tell. Heat is on it now. I haven't been up yet this morning.” He sounded weary.

“How long has it been since you had a day off, Olivier?” She grew more embarrassed at her self-centeredness. She searched her memory over the last two weeks and realized he hadn’t stopped working the long hours of Crush since Clarence died.

Olivier remained silent.

”How long?”

“I prefer to work,” he said quietly. He looked over at her. “I wake to find the distraction. And the work needs to be done.”

“I should be helping,” Syd answered, feeling the guilt hit her chest, and a sinking feeling in her lower lumbar.

“No,” he said firmly. His voice startled her and he shook his head. “No, you have lost your parent. You need time to grieve. There is nothing more terrible than losing a loved one and not grieving. Or finding resolution.”

“Grieving is one thing,” she said in her raspy voice. “Resolution? I'm not sure I’ll ever find that.” She heard the words escape her mouth, but they were foreign and sadly bitter; a surrender to a reality she didn’t want to admit to herself.

“You will have to forgive yourself, eventually. Clarence would have wanted you to forgive yourself. He certainly forgave you. He was optimistic that you would come around.”

“
But not in time,” she whispered under her quilt. If Olivier heard her, he didn’t let on. He cleared his throat.

“I have made a mistake. With you. I think I should tell you about my relationship with Clarence so that you understand. Clarence made me promise not to talk to you. He wanted to do it himself. I think he wanted to choose the story he would tell you. But my story is different, anyway. Besides I feel that you might trust me more if you knew why I am here.”