How to Dine on Killer Wine: A Party-Planning Mystery by Penny Warner Read Free Book Online

his own local TV show,
Bay Café
.”
    The guests stared at Rob blankly, bored, unimpressed, or possibly already intoxicated, the way they were downing the wine. Still, he continued his spiel, offering information on the party food, the activities, parking and traffic control, and the guest list.
    “Hear, hear!” Nick Madeira said, ringing his now empty wineglass with his spoon, no doubt hoping Rob was finished.
    Rob raised his glass. “Nick, Dennis, thanks for coming,” he said, ignoring their arm candy. “You know how important this event is for all of us. We’ve got to keep our boutique wineries competitive with Napology. Angus McLaughlin is doing his best to take over the entire valley. If we get the word out, market our wines aggressively, and keep the prices reasonable, I’m sure we can continue to compete with him. Otherwise we’ll go the way of independent bookstores, coffee shops, and mom-and-pop businesses.”
    Nick Madeira cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, but now that we’ve got all these ‘green’ rules and regulations, we’re losing money by the buttload. And if we can’t use pesticides, we’ll have another invasion of the glassy-winged sharpshooter or European grapevine moth that’ll wipe out next harvest.”
    “Nick’s right, Rob,” Dennis said after taking more than just a sip of his wine. He leaned back in his chair, assuming an air of fiefdom probably left over from his years as governor. “I sure hope you didn’t invite thatgreen witch, JoAnne Douglas, to the party tomorrow. She turns everything into her own environmental agenda. We won’t last if we have to meet all her nitpicky demands.” He washed down his words with another gulp of wine.
    “I didn’t invite her,” Rob said, “or anyone from Nap-
opoly
.”
    “Nap-opoly?” I asked, interrupting.
    Rob shook his head. “Sorry. That’s what we call Angus’s venture. He’s the CEO of Nap
ology
Corporation, but it’s more like a monopoly. He offers large-scale productions of cheap wines that we can’t compete with. And he’s buying up all the small wineries around here, taking advantage of the economic downturn.” To Nick and Dennis he said, “McLaughlin wouldn’t come even if I asked him. He’s a recluse, hiding away in that cabin behind his winery, making his employees do his dirty work. I wouldn’t be surprised if JoAnne Douglas was on his payroll.”
    Dennis swallowed the wine in his mouth and sputtered, “No way! You know JoAnne and Angus hate each other. One works for green, aka the environment, and the other works for green, aka money.” The men chuckled.
    Gina brought out the first tray of small bites. “This is Olive Oil and Truffle Tapenade,” she explained, pointing to a toasty-looking thing. “This one is Mascarpone Puffs with Ragout. And this is Snow Crab Cocktail Claws.” She set the platter on the table. Claudette was the first to serve herself, using a small pair of tongs that had been placed beside her plate.
    Rob poured more wine, and the men’s talk turned towine technology—metal screw tips versus traditional corkage, whimsical versus arty wine labels, the pros and cons of selling their products on Craigslist. Meanwhile the women complained about their mud baths (too hot), their massages (too rough), and their facials (too drying). I had a feeling nothing pleased these indulged trophy wives.
    By the time the next course of appetizers was served—Cheddar and Apricot Fritters, Shrimp Cakes with Blood Oranges, and Caramelized Polenta-Stuffed Mushrooms—Claudette and KJ were giggling from all the wine they’d been drinking, and the men were in a heated discussion about different kinds of pesticides. Only Marie Christopher and I were disengaged from the conversations—me thinking about the upcoming party, and Marie gazing into her wineglass, lost in her own world. She seemed to be hypnotized by the spirits in the glass, completely under their spell.
    An hour and a half later we’d