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

last interview he’ll ever give. If I see him even reading a newspaper, I'll shoot him.” He clasped the ice to his head, the corner of the cloth dangling down, covering his eyes.
    I had nothing to say to that, so I left him there and returned to the party.
    The sun was settling over the ocean far to the west. Waiters were clearing the dishes and lighting the candles I had placed on every table. Victor turned up the stereo and I turned on the Japanese lanterns he had hung from bamboo poles. People drifted out onto the grass, most of the woman barefoot, and began to dance, while others settled down to some serious drinking under the tent.
    At the fringe of the party, Hunter was talking to Armand Rivincita, who was probably trying to get the inside scoop on the confrontation between Blake and Angela. The two men made quite a pair. They were the handsomest men at the party, both tall and slim with great eyes, though Hunter was dark and Armand fair. Hunter's faded jeans, white shirt, and twenty year old Timex were a stark contrast to Armand's pressed black slacks, blue silk shirt, and gold Rolex. Hunt’s attire was much more to my liking. I'm not much for men who spend more time in front of the mirror than I do.
    I approached them and hooked my arm through Hunt's. He smiled down at me and Armand gave me a wink.
    “The belle of the ball,” Armand said. “Your Vintner's Reserve is outstanding.”  He raised his glass in a toast.
    “That means a lot coming from you, Armand,” I said, genuinely pleased. Despite Angela's harsh remarks, I liked Armand. He, too, was a newcomer to the valley, having been here for just over two years, but he’d brought a lot of prestige with him. Italian by birth, he had made a ton of money and built himself a winegrowing empire in Mendoza, the largest wine producing province in Argentina. He had had the vision to purchase a series of rundown rural farms and replant them with Malbec vines and, in the span of ten years, had turned them into a corporate vineyard worth several million dollars. He had then sold his holdings and set his eyes on California.
    Many growers in the area had not been pleased with his arrival or his almost immediate acquisition of a half a dozen small, struggling wineries in Calistoga, Napa, and Sonoma, but I made no judgments. I was sorry to see the smaller winemakers go, but Armand only bought what was for sale. If it hadn’t been him it would have been some corporation, or worse, a bank foreclosure. Land prices, taxes, and the cost of production were just too high for many of the small growers to make a profit. A fact my wavering bank account could attest to.
    Over the last two years, Armand’s wine knowledge, his friendliness, and his European manners had won over many of his early detractors. And landed him quite a few female admirers as well. He was far too young and far too suave for me, but I would have had to be dead not to notice him.
    But I had a man of my own. Well, sort of. I looked up at Hunt and tugged his arm. “I want to dance,” I said.
    Hunter grimaced. “I have three left feet.”
    “Then I'll lead,” I replied and dragged him away. I waved at Armand and he gave me another wink.
    Sinatra's 'Fly Me to the Moon' was playing, one of my all-time favorites. I tucked my head against Hunter's chest and his arms went around my waist. He was right, he wasn't a dancer, but I didn’t care. I had a mild wine-buzz going and the cool night air was perfect for cuddling close. I didn't even mind when he stepped on my toes. Again and again.
    The next song up was ‘Blue In Green.’ And then Ella’s ‘I Got a Man.’ All in all, I made Hunter stay on the dance floor for a half-dozen songs, unwilling to part with him. As we swayed under the darkening sky, I forgot all about Marjory, Angela, Blake, and Dimitri. I even forgot about the ugliness last year that had driven a wedge between me and Hunter. I savored the moment, his closeness, and the music.
    Maybe it was