A Vintage To Die For (Violet Vineyard Murder Mysteries Book 2) by JM Harvey Read Free Book Online

flopped down, handed Angela her glass and plunked the bottle down on the rickety table. “And they’ve still got another six hundred cases listed for their upcoming auctions.”
    “If they sell it for the same price as the last auction, I'll go under,” Angela told me as she raised the glass to her lips. She took a huge swallow, emptying most of the glass, binge drinking wine that sells for one hundred seventy-five dollars a bottle. “But not without a fight. I pay Becker to sell my wine while his partner bashes me in the newspapers?” She slammed the glass down and wine splashed across the table, rocking it dangerously.
    Angela wasn't the first person I had had this conversation with. Dimitri’s interview was probably going to cost Star Crossed many clients. But it wouldn’t drive the auction house out of business. As the article in the Examiner had pointed out, Dimitri had the respect of the best restaurants and biggest collectors around the world. A word from him could move your wine from the back pages of a wine list to the first one on a sommelier’s lips. Clout like that guaranteed customers.
    I was struggling for something to say to turn the conversation in another direction when Hunter looked up at Jorge.
    “Not planning on driving, are you, Jorge?” he asked mildly.
    But Jorge didn’t take it mildly. His face flushed and his eyes narrowed. “You here as a guest or the sheriff, Hunter?” he asked. He lifted his glass and took another purposeful swallow, staring at Hunt over the rim.
    “Right now, I'm a guest,” Hunter replied. “But after the party I'll be happy to bust you and toss you into the drunk tank.” He stared at Jorge, letting that sink in, then added, “It won’t be the first time.”
    “I know how that works,” Jorge said bitterly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Last time your buddies broke two of my fingers.”
    “You broke your fingers by punching Deputy Peals in the face,” Hunter said. “And that's why you did sixty days in county.”
    “Well, I guess that makes me just another drunk Mexican getting what he deserves, right, Hunt?”
    “If you had a complaint you should have filed it, Jorge,” Hunter said stiffly. He had laid down his fork. His hands balled into fists on the table cloth.
    Jorge snorted laughter. “Lot of good that would have done me,” he said. “We both know how much chance a Mexican stands in court.”
    “Shut up, Jorge,” Angela snapped. She looked at Hunter. “We came in my car, but we'll take a cab home.” She gulped the last of her wine then sat there, her eyes glued to her empty glass, a brooding frown on her face.
    Jorge went quiet as well, but his face was twisted into an angry knot. And so was Hunter’s.
    Tension made my stomach clench. I touched Hunter's hand and he shot me a look that was all hard edges. I smiled and the look softened. He took my hand and squeezed it, then sipped his Diet Coke and let the moment pass.
    Never again, I swore to myself. No more parties. I picked up my fork and tried to enjoy the food, but my appetite was gone.
    And the drama was far from over.
    “This cabernet is incredible, Claire,” Blake Becker said as he came up behind me.
    That brought Angela’s head up sharply. Her bloodshot eyes narrowed to slits. “You back-stabbing little creep,” she said without preamble, “I'm sending a truck for my wine tomorrow and I want an accounting of every bottle or you'll hear from my attorney.”
    Blake blinked a half dozen times. He shook his head. “We had this discussion, Angela. You signed a contract. We have the right—”
    “To run me out of business!” Angela said, drawing curious looks from the people at the tables that bounded ours. “That interview is ruining me!”
    “Dimitri’s interview was unfortunate, but it wasn’t a personal attack,” Blake said, a phrase that sounded well-used. “It's his integrity that helps us sell wine at the highest prices possible. Distributors and