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

finished the last of the appetizers. I was stuffed. To my horror, Gina entered with yet another tray, this one filled with bite-sized desserts. In spite of the offer of coffee, Rob poured another round for his guests and raised his glass in a toast.
    “To Gina and Rocco, for their outstanding gourmet treats this evening. To my neighbors, the Madeiras and the Briens, for being such great friends. And to Presley Parker, for planning our special event tomorrow. I wish you all great success!”
    Before I could bring the wine to my lips, I heard a glass shatter on the floor behind me. Startled, I turned in the direction of the sound. My first thought was that Gina had dropped something. But it wasn’t Gina whostood in the doorway with glass shards at her feet. It was a woman I’d not seen before. It was hard to guess her age—maybe somewhere in her late thirties or early forties. She had wild-looking strawberry blond hair that formed an A-frame around her freckly face. She wore no makeup other than a swash of clownish red lipstick along her thin lips. Her outfit was almost grungy—faded, ill-fitting denim jeans, a dirt-streaked lime green T-shirt that read “Drink Green Wine,” and dirty, well-worn athletic shoes.
    Rob stood, his eyes wide, his hands fisted.
    “I’m sorry, JoAnne,” he said, his face beginning to flush, “but this is a private party. You need to leave.”
    JoAnne’s freckled face hardened. “I knew you were up to something, Christopher. That’s why I followed you here. I’ve been listening at the door. You’re planning to go through with that party tomorrow at your winery!”
    The woman might have been petite—she couldn’t have been much over five feet tall, but her arms were thick and her hands large. Her curly hair made her angry face look even more intense. So this was the infamous JoAnne Douglas I’d heard about. In spite of the small package, she seemed to pack an explosive personality. No wonder Rob was concerned about her interference.
    She narrowed her small green eyes. The lines in her tanned, leathery face deepened. “I know what you’re up to,” she spat. “You’re going to try to convince everyone to vote against Measure W. Well, it won’t work, because there isn’t going to be a party.”
    No party? Now
I
was getting concerned.
    For a moment, everyone appeared to be frozen to their spots. Then Rob, his face twisted in anger, his jaw tight, said, “I asked you to leave, JoAnne. This is a private party. If you don’t go, I’ll call the manager and the police. And as for the party tomorrow, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. We’re quite within our rights to host the event.”
    “Excuse me…,” I said, standing up and moving toward JoAnne with a “we come in peace” outreach of my hand, hoping to dissolve the tension.
    “Who the hell are you?” JoAnne said with a sneer.
    I hesitated. If I told her the truth—that I was the event planner—I might become the brunt of her tongue-lashing instead of Rob. At last I said, “I’m Presley Parker. I’m working for the Christophers.” One revelation at a time, I thought, when dealing with a woman at her breaking point.
    “Well, shut your trap, Prissy Parker. This doesn’t concern you. And if you work for the Christophers, I pity you. They’re not exactly generous when it comes to employee paychecks. Just ask Javier…or Allison.” She shot Rob an evil grin when she said “Allison,” and I wondered what was behind it. Unfortunately I didn’t have time to ponder. The war of words between Rob and JoAnne was in full battle mode.
    “JoAnne,” Rob said. “The event tomorrow has nothing to do with the measure. We’re not going to cut down any trees or displace any deer or poison any creeks. We’re just celebrating our latest wine and want to publicize it. Presley, here, has planned the event for us, and in fact, a portion of the profits will go to support AA. Now, for the last time, please leave or—”
    “You