How to Dine on Killer Wine: A Party-Planning Mystery (6 page)

Nick Madeira cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, but now that we’ve got all these ‘green’ rules and regulations, we’re losing money by the buttload. And if we can’t use pesticides, we’ll have another invasion of the glassy-winged sharpshooter or European grapevine moth that’ll wipe out next harvest.”

“Nick’s right, Rob,” Dennis said after taking more than just a sip of his wine. He leaned back in his chair, assuming an air of fiefdom probably left over from his years as governor. “I sure hope you didn’t invite that
green witch, JoAnne Douglas, to the party tomorrow. She turns everything into her own environmental agenda. We won’t last if we have to meet all her nitpicky demands.” He washed down his words with another gulp of wine.

“I didn’t invite her,” Rob said, “or anyone from Nap-
opoly
.”

“Nap-opoly?” I asked, interrupting.

Rob shook his head. “Sorry. That’s what we call Angus’s venture. He’s the CEO of Nap
ology
Corporation, but it’s more like a monopoly. He offers large-scale productions of cheap wines that we can’t compete with. And he’s buying up all the small wineries around here, taking advantage of the economic downturn.” To Nick and Dennis he said, “McLaughlin wouldn’t come even if I asked him. He’s a recluse, hiding away in that cabin behind his winery, making his employees do his dirty work. I wouldn’t be surprised if JoAnne Douglas was on his payroll.”

Dennis swallowed the wine in his mouth and sputtered, “No way! You know JoAnne and Angus hate each other. One works for green, aka the environment, and the other works for green, aka money.” The men chuckled.

Gina brought out the first tray of small bites. “This is Olive Oil and Truffle Tapenade,” she explained, pointing to a toasty-looking thing. “This one is Mascarpone Puffs with Ragout. And this is Snow Crab Cocktail Claws.” She set the platter on the table. Claudette was the first to serve herself, using a small pair of tongs that had been placed beside her plate.

Rob poured more wine, and the men’s talk turned to
wine technology—metal screw tips versus traditional corkage, whimsical versus arty wine labels, the pros and cons of selling their products on Craigslist. Meanwhile the women complained about their mud baths (too hot), their massages (too rough), and their facials (too drying). I had a feeling nothing pleased these indulged trophy wives.

By the time the next course of appetizers was served—Cheddar and Apricot Fritters, Shrimp Cakes with Blood Oranges, and Caramelized Polenta-Stuffed Mushrooms—Claudette and KJ were giggling from all the wine they’d been drinking, and the men were in a heated discussion about different kinds of pesticides. Only Marie Christopher and I were disengaged from the conversations—me thinking about the upcoming party, and Marie gazing into her wineglass, lost in her own world. She seemed to be hypnotized by the spirits in the glass, completely under their spell.

An hour and a half later we’d finished the last of the appetizers. I was stuffed. To my horror, Gina entered with yet another tray, this one filled with bite-sized desserts. In spite of the offer of coffee, Rob poured another round for his guests and raised his glass in a toast.

“To Gina and Rocco, for their outstanding gourmet treats this evening. To my neighbors, the Madeiras and the Briens, for being such great friends. And to Presley Parker, for planning our special event tomorrow. I wish you all great success!”

Before I could bring the wine to my lips, I heard a glass shatter on the floor behind me. Startled, I turned in the direction of the sound. My first thought was that Gina had dropped something. But it wasn’t Gina who
stood in the doorway with glass shards at her feet. It was a woman I’d not seen before. It was hard to guess her age—maybe somewhere in her late thirties or early forties. She had wild-looking strawberry blond hair that formed an A-frame around her freckly face. She wore no makeup other than a swash of clownish red lipstick along her thin lips. Her outfit was almost grungy—faded, ill-fitting denim jeans, a dirt-streaked lime green T-shirt that read “Drink Green Wine,” and dirty, well-worn athletic shoes.

Rob stood, his eyes wide, his hands fisted.

“I’m sorry, JoAnne,” he said, his face beginning to flush, “but this is a private party. You need to leave.”

JoAnne’s freckled face hardened. “I knew you were up to something, Christopher. That’s why I followed you here. I’ve been listening at the door. You’re planning to go through with that party tomorrow at your winery!”

The woman might have been petite—she couldn’t have been much over five feet tall, but her arms were thick and her hands large. Her curly hair made her angry face look even more intense. So this was the infamous JoAnne Douglas I’d heard about. In spite of the small package, she seemed to pack an explosive personality. No wonder Rob was concerned about her interference.

She narrowed her small green eyes. The lines in her tanned, leathery face deepened. “I know what you’re up to,” she spat. “You’re going to try to convince everyone to vote against Measure W. Well, it won’t work, because there isn’t going to be a party.”

No party? Now
I
was getting concerned.

For a moment, everyone appeared to be frozen to their spots. Then Rob, his face twisted in anger, his jaw tight, said, “I asked you to leave, JoAnne. This is a private party. If you don’t go, I’ll call the manager and the police. And as for the party tomorrow, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. We’re quite within our rights to host the event.”

“Excuse me…,” I said, standing up and moving toward JoAnne with a “we come in peace” outreach of my hand, hoping to dissolve the tension.

“Who the hell are you?” JoAnne said with a sneer.

I hesitated. If I told her the truth—that I was the event planner—I might become the brunt of her tongue-lashing instead of Rob. At last I said, “I’m Presley Parker. I’m working for the Christophers.” One revelation at a time, I thought, when dealing with a woman at her breaking point.

“Well, shut your trap, Prissy Parker. This doesn’t concern you. And if you work for the Christophers, I pity you. They’re not exactly generous when it comes to employee paychecks. Just ask Javier…or Allison.” She shot Rob an evil grin when she said “Allison,” and I wondered what was behind it. Unfortunately I didn’t have time to ponder. The war of words between Rob and JoAnne was in full battle mode.

“JoAnne,” Rob said. “The event tomorrow has nothing to do with the measure. We’re not going to cut down any trees or displace any deer or poison any creeks. We’re just celebrating our latest wine and want to publicize it. Presley, here, has planned the event for us, and in fact, a portion of the profits will go to support AA. Now, for the last time, please leave or—”

“You lying pig!” JoAnne was now shouting. “You and your pals here are
ruining
the Napa Valley, spreading your polluted vineyards to the streams and wetlands and destroying the water quality for everyone. I’ve been fighting for years to protect the wildlife habitat and stop the land erosion, but you newbies have no concern for the environment, as long as you can expand your fences and your fortunes. Your so-called boutique wineries are no better than those jerks at Napology who want to take over the whole county.”

Nick Madeira cleared his throat and spoke up. “Listen, JoAnne, we’re on your side with the environment. Yes, big wineries like Napology are the ones ruining the valley, but not us little guys. They’re the ones buying up and consolidating all the smaller vineyards that are suffering in this lousy economy. They’re the ones you should be after, not us.”

“He’s right, JoAnne,” ex-governor Dennis Brien slurred more than said. “Yes, I’ll admit, I want to defeat Measure W, but only because it’s too extreme and it really won’t help wildlife, or improve the water, or stop further erosion.” He sounded every bit the politician as he spoke, and I wondered how sincere he was. I glanced at his wife, KJ, who sat wide-eyed, intently listening. Claudette, meanwhile, had a tiny smile on her face and seemed to be enjoying the drama.

“Growth is essential for Napa County, JoAnne,” Dennis continued. “We all know this area is the most popular region for domestic wines. If we limit growth, that will only impact the economy in a negative way. Plus it’ll hurt our county’s eight-billion-dollar industry. You don’t want that, do you?”

“You’re the biggest liar of all, Governor,” JoAnne said. “You’ve brainwashed these guys into believing your political agenda. Well, it won’t work with me—I’m not that stupid. My winery has been here for generations, unlike you idiots who pretend you’re vintners when you don’t know the first thing about producing quality wines. All you care about are your fancy castles, fancy cars, and fancy parties. Well, just wait until tomorrow night.

“I’m warning you, Christopher, if you host that party, you’ll get a taste of JoAnne Douglas’s
amuse-bouches
.” Pronouncing the words “amuse-bootches” instead of “amooze-boosches,” she stepped to the table, picked up one of the chocolate mousse desserts left on the tray, and hurled the soft chocolate glob across the table, directly into Rob’s face.

I gasped. The men ducked to the side to avoid being in the line of fire, should she sweep up more ammunition, while the women screamed. As Rob picked up a cloth napkin and wiped the gooey mess from his face, Marie rose with her glass of wine. She stared at JoAnne, utter hatred in her usually serene eyes; then with a backhanded sweep, she tossed the red liquid at JoAnne, dousing her face, hair, and T-shirt.

The other guests recoiled as the residue spattered the tablecloth. The women inspected their cocktail dresses for stains. The men rose, ready to defend or attack, as required.

JoAnne wiped the wine from her face with her sleeve, cocked her jaw at the stunned crowd, and said calmly, “Well, then. I’ll see you all tomorrow night.”

There was no need to call the police on JoAnne Douglas. She left of her own accord, after blotting the front of her shirt with a cloth napkin and tossing it on the floor. No one said a word for several moments, until Rob broke the silence.

“Well. We may need to double our security tomorrow night, but there’s no way I’m going to let that impossible woman ruin our event.”

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Marie asked quietly, looking up at him. She looked small and fragile in the soft light of the room, especially compared to the two high-maintenance wives, but
there was something dark in her eyes. “That’s not the first time she’s threatened us. Frankly, she scares me.”

Marie wasn’t the only one concerned. I was beginning to have serious misgivings as well and wondered what Rocco had gotten me into. This was supposed to be a nice quiet dinner before the party, but it had turned out to be more like a high school food fight. What was in store tomorrow night? And what had I’d dragged my staff, my boyfriend, and my mother into this time?

The thank-you party was pretty much over at that point. After the others left, I stayed behind to reassure Rocco and Gina that the food had been wonderful and everything would be fine at the wine tasting.

As if.

Apparently Gina had witnessed the scene from the doorway. “She’s a piece of work,” she said, stepping in to collect wineglasses. “A fanatic, still obsessed with the old ways. She thinks progress and expansion are deliberately undermining her beliefs.”

With everyone hating JoAnne, I felt for her in a way. I wondered how she’d become such a thorn in everyone’s side over the years. Did she truly care about the environment, to the point of incurring such wrath from the community? Or was she just stuck in a time warp, unable to accept change?

Or was it something else?

I reflected on my mom and how she’d also retained the styles and symbols of the past. But I had learned early on that change and growth were inevitable, and I was able to roll with whatever came my way—the loss of my job, the move to Treasure Island, the ups and downs of the event-planning business, the changes in
my mother due to her disease. Maybe having an unpredictable mother and five fathers during my childhood had forced me to be flexible.

I left Rocco and Gina behind to finish the cleaning and arrived at the bingo hall to pick up Mom a little after nine p.m. I found her sitting at the table where I’d left her, talking with Larry, while other players were packing up their caddies, markers, and good-luck charms.

“Presley!” she said as I approached. “You’re here! How did it go at the…” She hesitated, and I knew she’d forgotten where I’d been. Taking her out of her usual surroundings had thrown her off.

“The culinary college? Fine,” I said, not wanting to worry her about the threats we’d received from an irate—and possibly dangerous?—winegrower. I glanced at Larry, who stood. “How was your evening?”

“Wonderful, dear!” Mother answered. “You’ll never guess what happened!” She patted an envelope that rested under her hand.