One Foot in the Grape (16 page)

T
HE
story I'd heard was that most of the land in Monterey was once owned by a man named David Jacks, a Scottish immigrant who arrived in Monterey in 1850. He obtained work as the county treasurer. Once he got to know the citizens on the delinquent tax rolls, he began to lend them money to pay their taxes, using the land as collateral. When tax payments were missed, he foreclosed. By this and other legal chicanery, he acquired more than thirty thousand acres by 1859.

I drove through Monterey thinking of the colorful ways people had acquired the land of others throughout the region. I had to admit, in an area known for clever land swindles, Francesca's, as nasty and rotten as it was, was every bit as clever.

I headed south and was on the edge of town when I spotted Colony Lane. Marilyn had said her land was out there. I
wouldn't know it when I came to it, but on an impulse, I made a sharp right onto the narrow road.

The afternoon showed the vineyards at their best; a mixture of purple and russet hues, the rows of fruit ribboned across the rolling hills. Such a contrast to how these same fields would look in a few short months, when the vines were pruned, the plants readied for their winter rest.

Winding roads like this are where my car is at its best: smooth, tight in the turns and fun to drive. However, it was without a doubt the worst thing to drive when you wanted to go unnoticed. When I passed Francesca at a front gate, padlock in hand, I knew where the land was. Of course, Francesca recognized the car and also knew where I was. I could tell by the way she stopped and stared. The fury that tightened her face wasn't a bad clue either.

Since she'd spotted me, snooping was out of the question. I slowed and pulled to the side of the road, next to where she stood. The gravel crunched beneath my tires and sent a soft cloud of dust into the still air.

“I suppose you were just driving by. First, you happen to find Todd, and now here you are. My, my, aren't you just the one for showing up at inopportune moments.”

“I was in Monterey for something else.” I cut the engine and opened the car door. “I do know that Marilyn used to own this land and now you do, so I decided to drive by and take a look.”

I leaned against the side of the car. “Actually, I'm glad you're here. I have some questions for you.” It was time for some answers from Francesca, and I had a chip to play.

Francesca raised her brow. “Now, don't get me wrong. I like your style, I really do. But, honestly, why would I tell you anything?”

“Because”—I took a step forward—“if you don't, I'll tell Antonia how you got this piece of land.”

No reaction. She was good, I'd give her that. I could see her as smooth in a courtroom as she was with me.

“I know the whole story. Marilyn was quite forthcoming. Really nasty, Francesca, even for you.”

Francesca remained still but her shoulders stiffened. “If there was anything to that old rumor, Mother would have heard about it by now.”

“From who? The other wineries? Come on. Do you think they'd tell her that her daughter is a thief and a cheat? Antonia, the largest winery owner on the central coast? And at that point, to what end? You already had the land.”

A small, nervous tic started above her right eye.

“You're still part of the Martinelli family. You don't get the winery but you're still an heir. You still have access to the family name, to Antonia's public support. How long would that last if she knew the whole story?”

I looked over her shoulder. “It's too late to help Marilyn now. The land is yours, and there isn't anything to be done about that. Otherwise I wouldn't be making you this generous offer. If I keep silent, though, I want some answers.” I didn't like it, but I didn't have to.

She studied me. “I'll give you five minutes.”

“Fine.”

“What do you want to start with, this land? Well, here it is.” She swept her arm behind her. “It's as pretty as my mother's. Prettier and more productive. At least it will be when I get done. In terms of size, it's small, but I was never interested in producing a lot of wine. Just the best. Antonia has never given me
credit, but I have more natural ability than she does. In a few years, we'll have vintages to rival anything she and my insipid brother can turn out.”

I turned at the venom in her voice.

Francesca smiled. “Oh, come now. I'm sure you know there isn't any love lost between us.”

“Sure I know. It'd be hard to miss. I'm just surprised you feel that strongly about your brother. Your mother made her decision. Stephen didn't ask to inherit the winery.”

“No, but he sure didn't protest either. I was born knowing more about wines than he'll grasp in a lifetime working those hills. But, thanks to my mother, he'll get a lifetime to find that out.”

“So now you've got your vineyard, but you still need a winery.” I looked beyond the fence. “Marilyn sold her grapes outright. I don't know how you expect to produce your own label from here.”

“My, my, Penny Lively doesn't know something. Amazing.” She shrugged. “I've been busy. The buildings are finished, and I'm hoping next year's harvest will be bottled under my own name.”

“What name is that?”

“F.M. Vineyards.”

“Francesca Martinelli Vineyards. Original. For all your anger at your mother, you still managed to pull in the family name, didn't you?”

“I'm not relying on the Martinelli name.”

“Right,” I said. “I'm sure nobody will figure out what the
M
stands for. Also, it's just you. Can I assume Brice isn't involved in the winery?”

Francesca's eyes narrowed. “This is my vineyard. Brice doesn't know anything about wine. Anyway, it takes money, a lot of money.” She stopped and turned to padlock the gate.

“Brice must make good money as a cardiologist.”

“Decent.” Francesca rattled the locked chain. “He also has expensive habits. Very expensive habits.” She looked at her watch. “You have three minutes.”

She seemed pretty calm about it, and I decided to press. “Well, he certainly has expensive habits when it comes to ordering wine. That was a nice bottle you two shared at Sterling yesterday. Of course, he had to finish the bottle himself after you stormed out of there. I'm sure the wine was much smoother than the conversation.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “You missed your calling, Penny. Putting the defense attorney on the defensive, are you? You'd have made a decent lawyer.”

“Now you're just fighting dirty.”

Her smile faded, and the red lipstick emphasized the hard lines around her mouth. “Brice and I were arguing about what everyone in this fishbowl town already knows: namely, that my husband can't keep his pants on and his hands off.” She gave the padlock one final tug and turned to me. “Now that I think about it, we weren't actually arguing. What's there to argue about? I'm just sick of hearing it discussed behind my back. At a volume intentionally loud enough for me to hear every word.”

I wondered if Francesca knew about Brice and her sister. “Hearing the news from others must be very painful for you.”

“Heard it from others? Is that how you think I learned about his wandering? Oh, no. That implies he took pains to keep it
from me. Brice has been coming home with the proverbial lipstick on his collar almost from the day we were married. And, to be perfectly honest, I couldn't care less about his wandering if only he was capable of being the one thing he isn't: discreet.”

Francesca's voice rose. “We live in San Francisco, damn it! You'd think he'd have enough trophies there, even for a man who likes collecting them as much as Brice does. But no, he has to bring it to Cypress Cove, my town, where I know everybody and everyone knows me and where nobody can keep their damn mouth shut.”

She continued to talk as she walked toward a silver Lexus parked under an oak nearby.

I moved with her.

“The one thing I have in this town is respect, and that's tough to keep if every available female who lives here has slept with your husband. That's also where his money goes. Hideaways with views of the Golden Gate Bridge for numerous special friends pretty much keeps Brice low on funds.”

Not to mention exhausted. “So why not leave him?”

“Because I like being married,” she snapped. “I like having a ready escort, the well-respected doctor to dress up in a tux and cart around to openings and premiers. And forget him ever leaving me. He wouldn't be able to afford so much as a postcard of the bridge when I got through with him.”

On second thought, better she stayed with him. They deserved each other.

“Besides, he likes being part of the most successful wine family in the valley. He'd never want to leave that behind. It amazes me how much power the Martinelli name still carries
here.” Francesca paused. “Even with the problems the winery's been having the last couple of years. Shockingly inconsistent. And with all those improvements Stephen is undertaking. I can't imagine what could possibly be going on.”

The sarcasm was thick in her voice. Either she was responsible for the sabotage, or she just enjoyed the situation.

“No ideas at all?”

She brushed aside the question with a wave of her hand. “Either Marvin's losing his touch and doesn't know how to manage a vintage anymore, or my mother and brother are making mistakes. It's as simple as that.”

I looked at her. She really seemed to think it was just someone at Martinelli making mistakes. If she was the one I surprised by the barrels that day, she wasn't showing it.

“Where were you two days ago?”

“I was in the city in the morning then drove down here. Why? What does that have to do with anything?”

I ignored her questions and considered the timing. She could have driven down early and been in the barrel room with me. “I wouldn't worry about Martinelli Winery, Francesca.”

“Believe me, I'm not. The Martinelli name still pulls as much weight as it ever did.” Her laughter was shrill. “For example, don't think for a moment the bit of success you're enjoying with your little winery would've come without the blessing of my family.”

I turned in front of her and brought her to a stop.

Her smile widened. She savored getting to me.

My heart raced, but I plastered a smile on my face and forced myself to relax. “If you come after me, Francesca, or my winery, all bets are off.”

Never losing eye contact, Francesca stepped around me.
“I'm not concerned with your modest efforts, Penny, and there are two points you fail to see. One, my mother will do anything to avoid scandal. She will outwardly support me as a show of family solidarity and will stand against me only if there is any proof of the way I acquired this land. Which brings me to point two. Proof, dear Penny. There isn't any.”

W
ITHOUT
a second glance Francesca got in her car and drove away. She was right. It did all come back to proof. She seemed damned sure there wasn't any. When the sound of her car faded and I felt sure she was gone, I walked back to the padlock and gave it a tug. Locked up tight. I eyed the fence. It was a little over my height, with simple slats. Easy to scale.

When I landed on the other side I made my way down the dirt road. It curved and ended at a trio of buildings, all new and painted a moss green. The winery logo was mounted over the door of the largest building. It was a capital F in the same moss green seated over a capital M in gold patina, and was surprisingly attractive. Damn it. Francesca Martinelli Vineyards. I wondered if Antonia knew how far Francesca had taken this.

The buildings were all locked and I couldn't get a peek
through any of the shuttered windows. I hopped the fence and returned to my car.

Had Todd been looking for evidence? If he'd been able to prove Francesca had cheated Marilyn out of her land, would he have gone to Antonia? Had he taken the job at Martinelli Winery with that in mind?

Between lack of food and adrenaline from my little field trip and conversation with Francesca, I was light-headed. Low blood sugar.

I drove through town, spotted my favorite burger place, pulled into the drive-thru and ordered a well-done burger with extra pickles and grilled onions. I managed to keep the bag closed until I reached the bluff over the Pacific, near the famed cypress tree the town was named after. I settled in to watch the beach while I ate.

The car top was still down and the last of the sun, like liquid warmth, fell over my face. Down on the beach a few people enjoyed the sunset with me. A man and his Labrador ran along the shore, the dog more in the water than out. An elderly couple sat bundled against the breeze, which was chilly if you weren't moving about. Three kids braved the waves, while their dad watched from shore.

I swam in those same waves when I was their age, but now it was too cold for me. California had sandy beaches, gorgeous weather, palm trees down south and redwoods right up to the shores in the north. But warm water? Forget it.

It was a little before six and the sun had slipped over the horizon. I finished my burger and made my way back down the coast into Cypress Cove, where I turned in to Beauty and the Bean for coffee.

The fragrance of roasting beans, rich and amazingly complex, welcomed me before I'd reached the front door. Barrels of cooling coffee, with exotic names like Coatepec and Ankola, beckoned to me, but I resisted the urge to run my fingers through the glistening beans.

All of the coffees Thomas sold in the gift shop and coffee bar were shade-grown organic. They used the same coffee next door in the restaurant. Rain forests weren't cut down. Songbird habitats were saved. Virtue and vitality in a recycled paper cup.

The restaurant was accessible from the coffee bar through an arched open area. Diners were enjoying their meals. Thomas waved as he went by with a tray and from somewhere in the restaurant I heard Ross laugh.

While the restaurant was open and spacious, the gift shop and coffee bar was cute and cluttered, a place sprites would feel at home. Everything looked fragile, delicate and surreal. Connor breaks out in a sweat any time he comes into the gift shop. He says he feels claustrophobic, but I think it's the hugs Ross and Thomas insist on giving him.

To my right was a grouping of my latest prints. Some were inserted into frames. Nearby a bowl carried the same prints, but reprinted as postcards. I absently picked up the top postcard. I remembered taking the picture last autumn. It was a shot of my vineyard, although, at the time, it had still belonged to Aunt Monique. What a turn my life had taken in one short year.

I returned the postcard and walked to the coffee bar counter to study the daily coffee list, with just a quick peek at the dessert display.

Behind the case the top of Joanne's head appeared. She spotted me through the glass and waved over the fruit tarts
she was arranging in the case. She stood and smiled, but she looked pale. She wore an emerald green dress, and with her masses of red hair and ethereal beauty, she could have been a sprite herself.

“Hi, Penny. I heard you went to see Marilyn today. She said she enjoyed the visit. Of course, anyone who likes Dollie is okay in her book.”

“I liked both of them too. Can we sit for a minute?”

“Sure. Coffee?”

“I'd love one. You too. My treat.”

I sat at one of the tables and Joanne joined me, two steaming cups in hand.

“Did Marilyn tell you anything helpful?” Joanne asked. “You know, about Todd.”

“She told me the entire story about how she lost her land to Francesca.”

Joanne nodded. “Todd wanted to let it go, more than Marilyn. He hated what it was doing to his mom and wouldn't let her risk her home to fight Francesca in court.”

“They seemed really close.”

“Oh, they were. Todd and Marilyn spent a lot of years alone.”

“What happened to his dad?”

“Car accident. Years ago. Todd always talked about how great his childhood was before that. His dad was adopted, and Todd said family was really important to him.” Joanne slapped her forehead. “Oh! I'm sorry. Ross and Thomas told me about the attack. How you are feeling?”

I rubbed the back of my head. “Lucky, I guess. Just a quick trip to the hospital. If the bottle hadn't been wrapped, it could have been worse.”

The hospital reminded me of Brice. “I know Chantal and
Todd talked. Do you know if she ever mentioned her relationship with Brice?”

Joanne's eyes grew wide. “Chantal and Brice? I've never heard anything, and if Todd knew I think he would have said something.” She paused. “He did know she was seeing someone who was putting her in a tailspin, though, so it sort of makes sense if you think about it. Guys like Brice dream of girls like that. He'd be especially bad for Chantal, you know, because of her problems.”

“Her drug problems?”

Joanne nodded.

I thought of the missing prescriptions in the pad in Brice's desk. “Did you think he could ever have given her anything?”

Joanne looked away and took a deep breath. “I'm not sure about this . . .”

“Joanne, someone was determined to keep Todd quiet. If Todd knew something, don't you think you ought to tell me what it was?”

She pulled her gaze back to me. “I just don't see how it will help, and I don't want to hurt innocent people.”

“You need to tell me what you know. Someone out there isn't that concerned about people getting hurt.”

“Including you. Getting hurt, I mean. That could be why you were attacked. Someone sees you as a threat too.”

“Believe me, I've thought of that. What happened with Chantal?”

“A few weeks ago she was out of control one afternoon in the tasting room. Singing, twirling around on the bar stools, that kind of thing.”

“Was she drunk?”

Joanne shrugged. “If she was, she came in that way. Todd
never gave her anything to drink. I was there, waiting for Todd to get off work. Stephen was there too, and he didn't want anyone else from the family to see her that way.”

“‘Anyone' meaning Antonia.”

Joanne nodded. “Everyone knew if Chantal fell off the wagon again, it was back to the clinic for her. She hates it there and her brother knows it. He grabbed her around the waist and sort of half carried, half dragged her around to the back, where he had his car. I remember she dropped her bag when Stephen picked her up. Stephen had his back to us, but Todd and I picked everything up. There must have been ten prescription bottles that fell out.”

A couple came into the shop. Joanne stood to return to the counter. “When I asked Todd later what all of the prescriptions were for, he said they looked like sedatives. He didn't elaborate. I didn't mention it again and sort of forgot about it, but when I thought of his reaction later, about the way he answered, I think it really bothered him. He didn't say anything else, but I remember him being distracted for the rest of the day.”

Joanne glanced at the couple standing at the counter, ready to order.

“One more quick question?”

She gave me a small smile. “I know what you're going to ask. I didn't read the labels, but I bet Todd did. Did Chantal get those pills from Brice?”