Sour Grapes (A Savannah Reid Mystery #6) by G. A. McKevett Read Free Book Online Page A

highway
    through San Carmelita's outskirts. Although the steering was a bit off, the car drifting to the right. The temporary tires that Dirk had provided, while they waited for the city to come through with the new radials, were Mismatched, and she was pretty sure he hadn't paid the extra few bucks to have them balanced. Tightwad. She'd have to give him a verbal slapping-around.
    Atlanta sat in the passenger's seat, for once having little to say. There were a few advantages to quarreling--blissful silence being one of them.
    Having left the beaches and citrus groves behind, they gradually climbed tawny velvet hills, dotted with copses of dark oaks, into California's Gold Coast wine region. On either side of the highway, perfectly straight
     
    rows of vines, heavy with fruit, glistened in the sunlight. And the smell of sun-warmed grapes scented the air.
    All along the highway, at the end of each row, a rosebush had been planted, each blooming in a different shade of crimson, pink, yellow, and coral--Villa Rosa's trademark. Local legend had it that the winery's founder had planted them for his wife, Rosa, and they had been maintained and replanted in her memory since.
     
    "We're there," Savannah told her silent passenger. "T'his is Villa Rosa, the winery where your pageant is being held. They're one of the oldest, but fastest growing wineries in the area . . . and they never pass up a
    publicity opportunity"
     
    "Humpf."
    Ignoring the less than enthusiastic reply, Savannah continued. "How about that . . . both of us winding up there, you competing and me working security."
    "Yeah, it sucks. It major sucks."
    Savannah looked over at the petulant face and ignored
    the itch in her palm. It was an irritation she often felt when she badly wanted to slap somebody.
    "Sorry, Twerp," she said, knowing how much the nickname irked the kid. "I didn't mean to sneeze on your ice cream, rain on your parade, et cetera."
    "Yeah, sure. Once again, Big Sister is watching every move I make."
    Savannah gritted her teeth as she turned down a private
    road, marked with ornate wrought-iron gates and a carved, gilded sign which read: VIIIA ROSA.
     
    "I'm not sure how I turned out to be the bad guy
    here," she said. "You were the one who signed up for this thing, saying you'd been living in San Carmelita for
     
    SOUR GRAPES 59
    the past five years, using my address without asking
    me.
    "I saw it on the Internet, okay?" Atlanta said, examining the nail cuticles of her left hand. "It sounded cool, so I signed up on-line. How was I supposed to know that you'd be stingy with your ol' address?"
     
    "Come on, 'Lanta. I may not be everything you want me to be, but the one thing I'm not is 'stingy' where any of you kids are concerned."
    They were approaching the Villa Rosa complex, a sprawling but lovely configuration of buildings that resembled
    an elegant Italian villa more than a highly successful
    commercial enterprise. Ordinarily, Savannah would be looking forward to spending the next few
    days in such luxurious surroundings, but . . .
     
    "You're acting like I'm some sort of silly kid with a
    pipe dream," Atlanta moaned. "This is for my career, you know."
    The only "career" Savannah was aware of was Atlanta's weekend job at the Dairy Queen, but she thought it best not to ask for clarification on the subject.
    "There
    are going to be talent scouts at this pageant," the teenager continued. "And when they hear me sing, I'll probably get a contract offer right on the spot."
     
    "I hope you're not expecting too much from this," Savannah said dryly. "They'll probably wait until an intermission to make that offer, rather than disrupt the pageant with a lot of contract signing there on stage."
     
    "Don't be a smart-aleck. Of course they'll wait until later. But that's how a lot of female country singers got discovered, you know."
     
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    AVICZ1167Jal
     
    "No. . . I wasn't aware of that fact. Who exactly got her start that way?"
    Atlanta hemmed and