Ellen McKenzie 03-And Murder for Desser (5 page)

“We need this gate free,” Sabrina said. “People often buy cases of wine at an event like this, and Hector uses this gate to fork lift it up here.”

“How does he avoid the wooden tank?” I asked, looking down.

“It’s a double gate, it swings wide.” She gave the table another tug, but nothing happened.

“Didn’t seem that heavy when we leaned on it,” I observed.

“What?” Sabrina said.

“Never mind,” Dan replied. He handed me the champagne bottle. “Move,” he told us. We did. So did the table. I looked at him and grinned. He grinned back, sort of, reached over and took the bottle out of my hands and set it in the middle of the table. “Is that okay?” he asked Sabrina.

“Fine. Thanks. Everyone is sitting down and we’re going to serve the first course in a few minutes. You’re sitting at Mark’s table with Aunt Mary and Frank. Could you, I’d really appreciate it, I know its hard but do you think that…” The old Sabrina was back.

I looked through the French doors into the dining room at a table in the middle of the room. Frank pulled out a chair for Aunt Mary, got her settled while he chatted easily with a tall, thin man in a beautifully tailored tux and cowboy boots.

“And you want us to baby-sit,” Dan stated.

“I want you to keep Frank away from Otto, from all of the other guests, and don’t let Mark kill him. Until after dinner.”

“You don’t ask much,” Dan commented. “How are we supposed to do that?”

“Never mind. We’ll try,” I said quickly. “We’ll go in right now.”

“How’s Mark doing?” Dan asked Sabrina as we all headed for the open French doors.

“Not great.” She gave the room a quick survey. “He’s feeling about Frank like I’m feeling about Otto, and that’s downright murderous. Do what you can. Okay?”

She hurried off toward the kitchen and we wound our way through tables toward our peacekeeping mission.

“Ah, there you are.” Frank made a sweeping gesture, a genial host welcoming his guests. Only it wasn’t his table and we weren’t his guests.

“Have you met Mr. Ian Applby?” he continued. “Ian is the owner of this wonderful winery and a lifelong friend. His wife, Greta, could not be here tonight, a pity, but Ian has graciously offered me her seat.”

Mr. Applby nodded gravely. “A pleasure, Frank, as always. Greta will be very upset that she missed seeing you.” Then to the rest of us, “Frank exaggerates. I am only a partner.”

“The senior partner. The one with all the brains, all the vision, and all the money.” Frank laughed generously, inviting us all to join in. Aunt Mary managed a small one, and, much to my embarrassment, I tittered. Dan and Mr. Applby sat silent.

“I do believe this is my table.” The voice had a rich, liquid drawl and the woman had a rich, liquid look. Like brandy, and much the same color. Beautifully done honey beige hair, makeup you never see outside of magazines or Newport Beach, and a beige silk, drop-dead gorgeous dress, draped over a figure that didn’t look like it had needed to diet.

“Why, Frank Tortelli. I can’t believe my eyes. Whatever are you doin’ here?” the creature drawled.

“Hello, Jolene.” Frank’s voice had, until now, overridden everyone else’s with its volume and enthusiasm. Now it had neither.

“Frank, darlin’, aren’t you goin’ to introduce me?”

Mr. Applby was already on his feet, pulling out a chair.

“Jolene Bixby,” Frank said. He waved vaguely toward the rest of us. “A wine and food writer.”

“I’m the rovin’ reporter for
Dining Delights
,” she told us all as she let Mr. Applby push in her chair. “We’re out of Dallas, but it seems I’m just never home there anymore. So many restaurants, so little time.”

Jolene’s tinkly little laugh sounded like breaking glass. Aunt Mary caught my eye and gave me a “what do you think about that” look. Dan and Mr. Applby just looked. And looked.

“I’ve been to Tortelli’s just so many times, and I’ve just loved writin’ about it. I couldn’t believe my ears when I heard that you sold it. That just can’t be true, is it, Frank?”

Miss Dallas might have captivated two of our “men folk,” but she was missing with Frank by a Texas mile. This was the first anything had been said about Frank selling his restaurant and he didn’t look pleased. He looked furious. Why, I wondered. If he’d sold it, why would he care who knew? But maybe, I thought, the deal isn’t done yet, and Miss Jolene was doing a little premature announcing.

Mr. Applby’s head swung around to stare at Frank. “You sold Tortelli’s? I don’t believe it. You loved that restaurant. We all loved it. What on earth made you do that?”

For the first time, Frank seemed to have run out of words. “Oh, well, it’s, ah.”

He was saved by the unexpected and unwelcome appearance of Carlton Carpenter.

“Well, well. Look who’s here. Dan, Ellen, Mary.”

Carlton pulled out the chair between Jolene and Ian Applby, leaving only one empty one.

“Good evening, Mr. Applby, ah, Ian,” he said, rubbing his hands together. I was reminded of Uriah Heep. “It’s so nice to see you again.” He managed to get himself and his chair pulled up to the table with only one loud scrape before looking around. His gaze slid quickly over Frank and came to rest on the lovely Jolene. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.”

He let that hang in the air, expectantly. I said nothing, hoping everyone would ignore him and he’d take the hint and go away, but Aunt Mary, incapable of being impolite, started to introduce him. Mr. Applby got there first.

“Carlton is the winery’s newest partner,” he announced, causing Dan to choke on his wine.

I could hardly blame him. I hadn’t had a chance to tell him of Carlton’s elevated status to winery partner. Dan felt about Carlton very much the way I did, only perhaps more so. Sitting at the same table was tolerable, but having to listen to him boast about this latest triumph wasn’t going to be on Dan’s list of fun things to do. He frowned as he set his wineglass down and shot Carlton a look. Probably the one he reserved for petty thieves and incorrigible teenagers.

“My goodness, Carlton, I thought you had a real estate agency,” Aunt Mary said.

“Not much any more,” Carlton answered somewhat vaguely. “Now I’m doing investments and, ah, other things.”

“Investments?” Jolene repeated. She set down the champagne glass she had just emptied and studied him. “Now, that just sounds so excitin’. And you’re part owner of this winery? Imagine that.”

“A very minor partner,” he told Jolene, but he preened nonetheless. “I bought out Henry Banks’ winery shares.” He addressed this to Aunt Mary but immediately turned back to Jolene. “Henry didn’t leave poor Mildred much and she was glad to get some cash.”

“So it was you she sold to,” Aunt Mary said. “And, Carlton, Henry left her in fine shape. She was getting a little income from her shares. You should never sell anything that produces income.”

Carlton’s face got a little red. “I guess she needed cash now. And she was a very minor partner. As am I.” He tried out a chuckle, but no one joined in.

The last chair scraped and Mark sat down. Just in time. The waiters were slipping plates in front of us and pouring wine into the goblets closest to them.

“Has everyone met Jolene Bixby?” Mark asked. “Sabrina and I are delighted she’s covering our first dinner.” He turned to her, raising his glass slightly, as though to toast her. “I hear that you are Otto’s first bed and breakfast guest. Are you doing an article on that also?”

Jolene raised her glass, took a large swallow, and beamed at the table at large.

“I certainly am. We just couldn’t not do an article on something as important as a new restaurant with Otto Messinger as the owner and chef, and when that new restaurant is coupled with a fabulous bed and breakfast and is in California’s newest wine region, well, all I can say is, that is real news.”

That was a sentence that took some sorting through, but one fact stood out. The bed and breakfast Otto had talked about this morning really was news.

Mark ignored his father while trying to make conversation with Jolene, who adjusted her cleavage and smiled speculatively at Carlton. Frank paid slavish court to Aunt Mary, who seemed torn between flattery and confusion. Mr. Applby determinedly picked up his spoon and tasted the crab bisque. Dan looked at me, rolled his eyes slightly, and smiled wickedly.

“I love the look on Carlton’s face when Ms. Bixby leans in towards him. Reminds me a bit of a golden retriever, slobbering with anticipation, waiting for someone to throw the ball,” he said softly into my ear. “Do you suppose Jolene will make the toss?”

“She’s ready, willing, and just waiting for her cue,” I said, picking up my spoon. “One more peek down her cleavage, and Carlton won’t be able to leave the table without his napkin in front of him.”

Dan sputtered with laughter. Everyone looked at us and smiled a little expectantly. Everyone except Aunt Mary. There was warning in those blue eyes. We both smiled back.

After the general conversation resumed Dan whispered, “You’re a downright evil woman, Ellie my love.”

I smiled as demurely as I could and said, “Jolene looks like a cat on the prowl. I’ll bet she thinks Carlton has money.”

“Should we tell her the truth?” Dan asked in an innocent tone.

I raised an eyebrow as I watched Jolene readjust her dress a little lower over her bosom. She leaned across to say something to Mr. Applby, and, for a moment, I thought Carlton’s spoonful of bisque was going down her front, right down his line of sight. He managed to return the spoon, still loaded with bisque, to his bowl. I loved the expression on his face as he waited for Jolene to sit back in her chair before he lifted it again.

“This is better than a Mel Brooks movie,” Dan muttered. “Ouch,” he said more loudly when I pinched him.

“Hush. They’ll hear you.”

“Do you care?” He rubbed his arm.

“It’ll just make things harder for Mark and Sabrina. Besides, you’ll get it from Aunt Mary if she hears you.”

Dan grinned. “You’re right about that.” He put down his own spoon and picked up his wineglass. “You know, this stuff’s not bad,” he announced, rather loudly.

Mr. Applby gave a little smile and nodded. “We are noted for our Sauvignon Blanc.”

“It’s delightful,” I said, raking my brain to think of some terms Sabrina had taught me. “So fruity,” I finished, hoping I had it right.

“The soup’s good, too,” said Dan, trying to keep a straight face.

“It is bisque,” Frank told him severely.

“What’s the difference?”

Unfortunately, Frank started to tell him. We were saved by the plate change.

“What is this?” Dan looked down at his plate, suspicion clearly etched.

“Hum. He has tried the ahi tuna with macadamia nut crust and shitake mushroom.” Frank was poking the beautiful concoction gently with his fork. “The bisque was passable. This dish is a little harder. Let’s see if he has succeeded.”

“Mushrooms. And red tuna. Who would have thought,” murmured Dan. He watched everyone start and, brave man that he is, took a forkful. “Wonderful,” he said, a smile breaking out.

“This is fabulous, Frank,” Aunt Mary said. “I would love to learn how to make it. Is it hard?”

“It takes practice, my dear Mary. And, of course, an expert teacher. I volunteer.” Frank smiled at Aunt Mary a little like Jake, my cat, smiles at a mouse before he pounces. He made me nervous, but she actually seemed to enjoy it.

“We’ll have to arrange a time.” Frank gingerly tasted the salad. “Not quite the right flavor in the vinaigrette. We’ll do it better, together.”

Spare me. Jolene must have been thinking something similar, because she was frowning down at her plate. Or maybe she didn’t like tuna.

“Sabrina did a good job,” Carlton pronounced, carefully inspecting the centerpiece. “I was a little worried, she seemed so nervous, but then, she is new at this.”

Mark looked up, startled. I was afraid he was going to respond to that implied insult, but Mr. Applby got there first.

“Sabrina is a talented girl. We were lucky to get her, and you, Mark.” He nodded in Mark’s direction, but it was Frank who preened. “And so far everything seems quiet in the kitchen. I was at the last dinner Otto did and that was a disaster. I was afraid this one might be too. I told Sabrina, but she was determined. So far, so good.”

“What do you mean, a disaster?” I asked.

“Our Otto does have a temper.” Jolene had been sipping the wine with enthusiasm and was looking a little flushed. “I ought to know; I’ve been to just hundreds of his dinners.”

“And did you give him hundreds of kind reviews?” There was something in Frank’s tone that made both Dan and me do a double take.

Ian Applby smiled at Jolene. “Miss Bixby is kind even when the review isn’t. I’ve had the pleasure of reading many of her articles and am extremely flattered that she’s here tonight.” Jolene simpered, and Mr. Applby went on. “Otto’s temper is legendary, but manageable, when he confines it to the kitchen. Only sometimes…the last dinner of his I attended, he came storming out of the kitchen, insulted the host and several of the guests, then walked out. His staff managed to get the main course and the dessert on the table, but you can imagine.”