One Foot in the Grape (3 page)

A
FTER
Hayley and Connor left, I grabbed my camera and a pair of scissors. Nanook followed me outside and flopped down in the shade.

I tried to spend a part of every day in the garden. Things grew so fast in the mild climate I needed to come out most days just to keep up. I snapped shots of the garden with the winery in the background. This time of year the sunflowers managed to take over the garden, much to the delight of the birds. I cut several bunches for the house, leaving a few on the flat stones. Rabbits loved the seeds and I had more than enough.

After I finished in the garden, I went through my prints and postcards for various shots to sell at the festival. They were good publicity for Joyeux Winery and a nice reminder for visitors of their time here.

The seasons of the year were clear in the images. Early
spring leaves, freshly unfolded green against the bluest of skies; summer shots, where the terrain of golden hills shimmered like waves in the background; autumn, the perfect time on a winery, when the fiery orange and deep purple grape leaves challenged seasonal colors anywhere. The winter shots, done in black and white to heighten the starkness of the barren branches, showed none of the life that would burst forth when the cycle began anew.

The doorbell rang just as I finished. What good was living in the middle of nowhere if people still managed to show up unannounced?

I might have ignored it but Todd Ryan from Martinelli Winery stood there. He spotted me and waved through the glass. I opened the door.

“Hi there.” I moved to let him in. “I thought I'd see you tonight at the Wine Growers Association, but here you are.”

In his late twenties, Todd wore his usual outfit: a white, long-sleeved cotton shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots. He had his Stetson on and brown curls were tucked behind his ears. He had a nice smile. “I was driving by and thought I'd stop in. Hope you don't mind.”

“No, of course not.” I didn't really know Todd and couldn't imagine what he wanted. “Coffee?”

“Thanks, but no. I don't want to take up a lot of your time.” He took off his hat, turning it in his hands.

“It's no problem.” The curiosity was getting to me. “What's up?”

Todd smiled. “I'm getting married soon—”

“I heard that. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. The thing is, Joanne, that's my fiancée, really loves your landscapes. She feels you're the best photographer
in town. We know you don't do events, but if you're willing to be our photographer . . .”

I looked at him. “Are you sure? It's your big day. You don't want to take any chances.”

“Believe me, we'd be honored. Um, we don't have a lot of money . . .”

I waved my hand. “I wouldn't charge you. I'm more than willing to try if you're willing to take the risk.”

“That would be really great.” Todd smiled. “I didn't think there was this much to getting married. Joanne and I want something small and there's still a lot going on.”

“When's the date?”

“Ten weeks, December twenty-first. It's a good time of the year. Before Christmas and after all the tourists go home.”

If Todd was in charge of the Martinelli tasting room, he'd have access to every area of the winery. “So, you've been in charge of the tasting room for what, a year now?”

“Not quite. I started last November.”

“How do you like it?”

“I enjoy the work, and Antonia's great.”

“Really?” I tilted my head as though this surprised me, which, in a way, it did.

“She's not bad. Not like the way she comes across. As long as you do your job, she leaves you alone.” He studied the brim of his hat and continued. “It's more than that. She goes out of her way if she knows you're interested in learning. I have my degree and want to run my own winery someday. Still, there's so much to the actual process of making wine. If it weren't for Antonia, I don't know if I'd be learning much at all.”

“Marvin isn't the best teacher?”

Todd grimaced. “He thinks if he explains something his
job's in danger. No chance of that from me. Not for a long time. And Stephen . . .”

“That's right. I forgot Antonia's son is starting to take on more responsibility. How's it going?”

“Okay, I guess. My time is spent in the tasting room, but I know he's made some changes. They upgraded some of the equipment. He tries to keep up with Marvin and Antonia when they discuss the winery. Stephen seems so easygoing and they're both such strong people. I think he's caught in the middle. Lately, there has been more pressure. I know there's been some trouble with the consistency of the wines, and Antonia is relying on Marvin more than ever.”

I tried to look surprised. “What's been going on with the wines?”

He shrugged. “Could be a lot of things. The truth is, it's not a fun place to work right now.” His hand tightened on his hat, crushing it.

“What makes you say that?”

“There's a lot of tension. The wines have been disappointing, and now there's something going on with . . .”

I waited. Sort of. “Todd?”

He put up his hands. “Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything.”

“Todd, at least finish what you—”

“No.” He started for the door. “Honestly, forget it. We can talk about the photography later, if you're still willing.”

“Of course.”

“That's great. See you tonight, Penny.”

He walked down the path. His shoulders were hunched and he walked with his head down. He didn't look back. What was going on that had him so agitated? Todd had something
on his mind, and it wasn't Marvin. Marvin was a jerk, but that wasn't anything new.

I shook my head. Antonia was here this morning about troubles on her winery and Todd was here now . . . What had Todd said? There was something going on with . . . what?

I turned from the window. Todd was getting married. Married and probably not earning much money right now. Todd struck me as a nice guy, and it seemed unlikely he'd take money from a competitor to sabotage Martinelli Winery. He also sounded like he enjoyed working for Antonia. Still, if he wanted his own winery, he needed to start a nest egg. Maybe he already had.

*   *   *

I
spent the rest of the afternoon with the winery sales ledger, my largest responsibility. The wine business, like most everything else, was at the mercy of the economy. I would have guessed alcohol was pretty recession-proof. I figured when things were good, people liked to indulge. When things were bad, they liked to indulge even more.

However, wine is a luxury item. Our clients were cutting back on inventory. Hotels were at 50 percent occupancy and restaurants were closing. If your wine didn't sell fast enough it got struck from the wine list. It took regular calls and visits to see if customers were out of stock or if they needed anything.

Hayley came in through the back door. “I need a handkerchief for my face. There's a lot of dust from the tractor.”

She tied a bandanna around her throat. This was the busiest time of the year at the winery and I wouldn't see much of her for the next couple of weeks. She looked a lot like her great-aunt and had a lot of the same traits as Aunt
Monique. The same smile, the same streaky blonde hair and the same habit of running her fingers through it.

Aunt Monique started Joyeux Winery in 1982. Joyeux means joyful in French and was my grandparents' name when they entered Ellis Island. Like so many immigrants of the time, they left the island and entered America with a different name: Lively, in their case.

I was glad my aunt revived the original family name for the winery. Joyful was how I felt every day here in the vineyards. Then I looked down at the ledger and the tension between my brows rose. Before I moved back I never paid much attention to the business end of running the winery. I assumed it did fairly well. Either Aunt Monique didn't go into this for the money, or I still had a lot to learn.

Hayley looked at me. “You don't look very happy with the accounts.”

“I don't care if we get rich doing this, but I'd like to know we can keep a roof over our heads.”

She walked over, her expression worried.

“It's not as bad as it sounds, but sales are down. I've called most of our clients, getting our name back out there. We just haven't been at the top of their list, probably because we haven't been in front of them. The response was good, though. Maybe soon we can start using more black than red ink in the books.” I stood and walked to the window. “The reality is we're going to always remain a smaller winery, with specialty wines, because of the grapes we specialize in.”

My aunt wasn't interested in producing a lot of one type of varietal, so she made a calculated move. She bought land that ran in a ribbon across the Carmel Valley, on the western side of the Santa Lucia Mountains. The three hundred acres
ran west to east and benefited from a perfect soil mix of gravel and loam. The winery sat at just over one thousand feet above the Pacific Ocean, which was nine miles to the west. The result was a much wider variety of grapes than you could normally get to flourish on a winery this size. The western boundary was lower and closest to the cooler air of the Pacific. The Pinot Noir grown there would probably burst with the heat found at the eastern end of the property, while the Cabernet grown on the protected, sun-drenched hillsides to the east wouldn't ripen on the cooler western boundary.

We produced Zinfandel, Cabernet, Pinot Noir, Chardonnay, and Syrah. About twelve thousand cases per year. Certainly on the small side, but respectable.

I turned to Hayley. “Wine Growers meeting tonight.”

“I know. Wouldn't miss it.” She smiled and gave a small laugh.

“What? Do you know something I don't?”

“Maybe. I went online to see who was running for office this time around. I figured Antonia would be there and of course she is, but you'll never guess who's running against her. Go on, guess.” She laughed and looked even younger than her twenty-seven years.

“Hayley, come on. Just tell me.”

“Okay. I can't believe it. I don't know if Antonia knows yet and I want to see her face—”

“Enough already. Who is it?”

“Francesca.”

“No.” I looked at her. “Her daughter? What is she thinking?”

Hayley threw up her hands. “Can you believe it? It's really going to rattle Antonia.”

I shook my head. “She must be planning on moving back
from the city. She isn't here often enough to be president. How would she manage this and still live in San Francisco?”

“I think she's going to try. She has a successful law practice. She can't be thinking of giving that up.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Why would she take this on? It's a lot of work and she's taking on Antonia. Why she would go to the trouble?”

“You don't know the history. Two years ago Antonia gave Stephen his promotion. Until that time Francesca was really involved in the winery's future. After that, forget it. Even though Antonia had always said she was leaving it to Stephen, Francesca was furious.”

I nodded. “Antonia told Aunt Monique years ago that if she ever had a son, she'd leave him the winery.”

Hayley nodded and walked toward the back door. “Ironic, isn't it? Sometimes powerful women can be the most sexist of all. It's like they break through the glass ceiling and then repair it behind them. Francesca's determined to be a part of the winery community, even without her mother's help. I don't like Francesca, but I can see why she'd be angry at Antonia.”

“You don't like Francesca? Why? You like everybody.”

Hayley stepped outside, talking over her shoulder. “I'll let you make up your own mind tonight.”

H
ARVEST
time in wine country was always the busiest time of year, but Joyeux Winery had it easier than some. The wide selection of grapes we grew allowed us to spread out the harvest. The larger wineries that specialized in one particular type of grape kept a frenzied pace while they picked everything at once. Our grapes ripened from the west to the east, whites to reds, and over a longer period, but we still had a couple of late nights when we brought in the bulk of the harvest.

Although we're busy, this is the best part of the season, in particular after the harvest is complete. Relief sets in at having escaped a heavy rain or, our biggest fear in October, an early frost.

I glanced at the calendar. The election for the MCWGA officers was late this year. Usually they tried to get them out of the way in late summer, before harvest began. I wondered
how it had slipped through the cracks. If Antonia meant to schedule it earlier and forgot, it was a symptom of something wrong. Antonia never let anything slip.

I snapped the ledger shut, headed to the kitchen and immediately was overwhelmed. I'll be the first to admit, success in the kitchen escaped me. The only thing I could reliably make was salad. I opened the fridge and got out lettuce, blue cheese, pears and candied walnuts. I put in a lot of walnuts. It tasted like dessert.

There was enough for Hayley and Connor, but this time of year they grabbed meals when they could. The tractor noise grew in the six acres of Zinfandel planted at the rear of the house. Connor stopped every few minutes to taste random grapes and gauge the color against the setting sun. The day you harvested was the day you could see and taste the wine the grape would become.

Hayley and Connor came in a while later.

“Two or three days, tops, on the Zinfandel.” Connor eyed the salad.

“I made extra. Help yourself.” I pushed the bowl toward him.

Hayley grabbed a serving spoon. “Move over.”

As they hunted for the last of the candied walnuts I stood and moved to the door. “While you finish, I'll go and get dressed for this evening.”

Connor looked up. “Dressed into what?”

I looked down at my white sweat outfit. “Pretty much anything would be an improvement.”

Connor shrugged. “You look fine to me.”

If I looked fine this way, then clearly I wasn't spending enough time on how I looked.

“Maybe I should just go get ready.” I quickly dressed in
my second-favorite outfit—a long heavy-knit sweater, jeans and heeled boots.

We took Connor's truck. Hayley sat between us. She looked out the window and didn't say a word for most of the trip.

“What's on your mind?” I asked.

“Just the harvest.”

I nodded. She'd taken on more responsibility and had complete control over a small portion of the vineyard. An entire year of work would be judged by what she did over the next seventy-two-hour period.

The junior college offered classes in viniculture and, in exchange for internships at the local wineries, allowed the MCWGA to use one of the lecture rooms for its monthly meetings.

We finally found a parking spot in the back. “Wow. Good turnout.”

“Election night always draws a big crowd. You know.” Hayley glanced at me. “You ought to run. How about vice president?”

“How about we not pursue that line of thought?”

“I'm serious.” She stepped out of the truck. “It would raise exposure for the winery, and you'd be really good at it.”

“We can always use more press,” Connor said.

Hayley nodded. “Besides, you'd easily win. Nobody wants to be vice president with Antonia as president. She forced Stephen to do it last year.”

“That's your best selling point? I'd win because nobody else wants the job? Wow, where do I sign up?”

“Just think about it. It would be good for you and the winery. Besides, it's a great way to meet men.”

Connor grunted. “Penny doesn't need to meet men.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I just meant you don't need to meet any men right now.” Connor stopped. “I mean, you don't need any . . .” He shook his head. “You know what? Forget it. It came out wrong.”

Damn straight it did. “Hayley, go ahead and nominate me.”

“Wow. That was fast. It was just a suggestion. Maybe you should think about it.”

“If I think about it, I'll come up with a million reasons why it isn't a good idea.”

I turned and walked away before I changed my mind, and made my way through my fellow vintners. Hayley was right. I couldn't recognize more than a few faces here and there. I needed to get out more.

I turned at the tap on my shoulder.

Todd stood behind me. “Sorry I left so abruptly today. I was rude and want to apologize.”

Given our earlier conversation, I couldn't help but take a closer look at him. Tension was etched between his brows.

“Todd, if you ever just want to chat . . .”

Suddenly he smiled and his face relaxed. “I'm fine. I promise. Just with getting married and some family stuff going on and the job . . . everything is getting to me. I need to figure out a couple of things. That's all.”

“Well, if you're sure . . .” I turned to go.

Antonia's eldest daughter, Francesca, walked up. “Hello, Todd.”

Todd nodded, tight-lipped and with every bit of tension I'd seen earlier. He turned away. “Talk to you later, Penny.” He didn't even glance at Francesca.

What was that about?

Francesca's eyes followed Todd. “Hello, Penny. You've been back, what is it, six months?” Francesca turned her pale face toward me. She wore her brown hair in a bun so tight it pulled the skin up around her eyes. She had on very little makeup and wore a tailored skirt suit. People in Cypress Cove dressed how they wanted. You didn't see many suits here, and she stood out.

“Hi, Francesca. About that long. I hear you're running for president tonight.”

Francesca laughed, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. “My idea of term limits. Mother's been in charge for far too long.”

“I'm surprised you're interested in the job. It's a lot of work.”

She shrugged and looked around the room. “I run a successful law firm. I think I can handle this.”

I didn't like her patronizing attitude. “I don't think you appreciate the amount of time Antonia puts into the association. There are a lot of afternoons during the week that Antonia meets with the tourist board, the local businesses, that kind of thing. How are you going to do all of that from the city?”

“As I said, I'll manage.”

Wow. I really didn't like this woman. “So, who's going to nominate you?”

Francesca pointed to the back of the room, where a tan man with silver hair was on a cell phone. “I don't believe you've met my husband, Brice. He'll nominate me and, in spite of the objections you've raised, Penny, I just might win. My mother isn't the easiest person to get along with, you know.”

She had me there.

“While I find your concern I might be taking on too much, well, touching, don't worry about me. I've decided to play a
bigger role in the valley. I intend to be around for a long time, with or without my mother's support.”

She flicked her hand as she turned to leave. I was dismissed.

I've been rebuffed before, by the best, and believe me, Francesca was nowhere near the best. I raised my voice. “Oh, that's right. I heard Antonia was leaving the winery to your brother, not you. What a shame. For you, that is. I'm sure, though, she knew what she was doing.”

Several people stopped.

Francesca turned and moved in close. “That's right. She's leaving it to my brother. She's leaving the winery to my unqualified, uninspired brother. If you think that's going to stop me, though, you'd better think again. It isn't enough to stop me. Not nearly enough.”

I wasn't sure how to respond.

“Speaking of the uninspired, here's my brother now, playing lapdog to my mother as usual.”

Antonia swept into the room, cane on her arm. With that silver hair, thick and swept up, Antonia was a formidable woman. She knew it too. You could see it in the way she walked, with her head held high and shoulders back, her stride long and sure.

Stephen followed Antonia. Francesca's lapdog comments about her brother, while nasty, weren't easily dismissed. Stephen did look something like a lapdog. I would never have recognized him if Francesca hadn't pointed him out. He was easily the most forgettable person I'd ever seen. Everything about him was beige: his hair, clothes and, even from across the room, personality. He followed Antonia to the front of the room.

“We'll continue this conversation, Penny. You can count on it. Now, however, I must go pay homage. After all, isn't that what one does with royalty?”

Francesca walked over to her mother. Antonia said something and Francesca shook her head. Without another word, Antonia walked away. Francesca, with a small, amused smile, watched her go.

I turned. Someone else watched the exchange with me. Todd's hands worked at his sides and there was tension along his jawline.

If someone was trying to sabotage Martinelli Winery, Todd was in a position to know. He spent most of his time there. He could have seen something, might have stumbled across the answer. He wouldn't go to Antonia if he suspected Francesca unless he had proof. Was that the source of Todd's anger? He either knew or suspected Francesca of the sabotage but couldn't prove it? Francesca certainly had motive. She was angry with both her mother and brother. She also had access. No one would notice her out at the winery, or in the fermentation building. It wasn't that every bottle had to be ruined. Inconsistent product was enough to destroy a winery's reputation.

Antonia took a seat at the head table and people began to file into the rows of chairs. Hayley and Connor were seated near the front and I slipped in beside them.

“I saw you talking to Francesca,” Hayley said.

“What a piece of work. She's going to run for office and thinks she can manage it from San Francisco. She doesn't want the job. She just wants to get under Antonia's skin.”

Antonia leaned in to the microphone. “Let's begin. The first item for discussion is label standardization.”

Most of the vintners that belonged to the MCWGA, including Joyeux Winery, produced sparkling wines, what is referred to as Champagne in certain parts of Europe.

Sparkling wine and Champagne are created the same way, referred to as
méthode Champenoise
. Sugar and yeast are added to wine and carbon dioxide is created, causing the bubbles.

Legally, we called our wine anything we wanted in the states and were restricted from the word “Champagne” only on bottles shipped to Europe. The Champagne region of France won this point, and I had no argument with it.

I looked around the room. This was a topic Aunt Monique fought for years. We used the “sparkling wine” label. Some wineries used both terms. The members were divided. Someone in the back said the “Champagne” label added panache. I raised my hand. Antonia nodded.

I faced the room. “Calling it Champagne only adds panache if you actually think the French product is superior, something I certainly don't believe to be true. Look, we can't call it Champagne in Europe. Fine. If we make this an issue, it appears even we feel Champagne is better. I want the world to know we make the finest sparkling wine in the world. It's fresh, it's unique and it's completely Californian.”

There was a smattering of applause and when Antonia called for a vote, a majority of hands went up, Antonia's included.

“That's it, then. Going forward, members will adhere to the ‘sparkling wine' moniker. Now, on to elections for the coming year.”

While the secretary and treasurer were elected by a show of hands, Hayley leaned over. “If you want to participate,
you can volunteer for a project or two, a little at a time. You sure you want to run for office?”

I nodded but didn't speak. Like most things, you don't really know what you're getting into when you volunteer, but I didn't stop Hayley when, a few moments later, she nominated me for the office of vice president.

Once again, Antonia raised her brow at me. I shrugged.

“As she is running unopposed, I appoint Penelope Lively as vice president for the coming year.” She glanced around the room and her gaze settled behind me. I turned. Francesca sat several rows back.

“Now, are there any nominations for the office of president?”

On cue, Stephen raised his hand. “I nominate Antonia Martinelli.”

Antonia nodded at her son, and I heard my voice, along with several others, second the motion. Antonia was difficult, but she was committed. She worked hard at the job.

“Any other nominations?”

There was a moment of silence before a voice came from the back of the room. “I nominate Francesca Martinelli for president.”