A Fine Year for Love. Catherine Lanigan
stared at Liz for a moment, then broke into laughter. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.” Liz lifted her chin.
“Okay. Why is that important to you?”
Liz slapped her forehead. “Now I get it. It was never about a vial of dirt. It was about the components and the structure of the soil. Gabe was already thinking of buying the Mattuchi farm. Once he got his hands on my soil samples, he knew he could possibly have a gold mine over there.”
“Oh boy.” Maddie’s eyes narrowed. “If he planted grape vines in similar soil—”
“And with the Barzonni millions to back him up, he could put me out of business.”
“Dirty rotten scum.”
“The rottenest,” Liz agreed.
POURING A FLIGHT of the vineyard’s best aged cabernet sauvignons for a Chicago-based investment banker, Sam Crenshaw watched his granddaughter out of the corner of his eye as she spoke to Maddie. Sam had learned since the day Liz’s father, Matthew, was born that a proper parent or grandparent needed to use high-level espionage tactics and have a boatload of intuition. Sam knew his granddaughter’s body language better than anyone, including Liz herself, he’d bet. From her consternation, the way she ground her jaw and the way her eyes had turned from sky blue to stormy indigo, he knew something was very wrong.
That girl looks ready to kill.
Sam smiled at his customer, who peered down his nose over his designer eyeglasses at the paper Sam had slipped toward him. “Here’s the list of your selections for this flight and a description of each wine,” Sam informed him. “Just let me know if you want to make a purchase,” he said. He did not take his eyes off Liz, who had just walked Maddie to the door.
The man carefully rolled the second selection, an oak barrel−aged cabernet, in its glass and held it up to the light. He tasted the wine and smiled. “This one has a smooth finish. Nearly like velvet. Remarkable.”
Sam turned his attention back to the customer. “Remarkable how? That you found such excellence here and not from a French burgundy?”
The man grinned merrily. “You’re very observant.”
Sam winked at him. “It’s my job.”
“I’ll take a case of this one,” the man said, sliding his credit card to Sam.
“Excellent taste. This is the best wine we’ve ever made. It’s my personal favorite.”
Sam continued to smile as he took the card, though he grumbled under his breath. The expensive sale should have made him happy. But he was much more interested in his granddaughter and her escalating irritation.
After the man signed his voucher, Sam used a walkie-talkie to call Aurelio in the warehouse. He would crate up the cases of wine for the customer and meet them at the front door.
Sam stepped outside and stood next to Liz under the porch roof to the tasting room. The rain was easing up. The storm clouds had nearly passed over them, and blue afternoon skies were beginning to poke through the cover.
Aurelio arrived with the cases just as Sam’s customer walked out the door. The man popped the trunk on an arctic-blue BMW sedan.
Sam stood with his granddaughter and watched the man drive away.
“Did you just sell him a full case of your prized cabernet?” Liz inquired with a tone befitting a prosecuting attorney.
“I did.”
“I thought you wanted to save it.”
“No, I said I would only sell it to an aficionado.”
She peered down the drive. “Really.”
“I believe,” Sam said proudly, “I have made a new friend. He’ll be back. And often. If he has friends and they like our wines as much as he does, you and Louisa better get busy producing some prizewinners,” he joked.
Liz scowled and the storm came back to her eyes.
“What is it?”
“Grandpa, we need to talk,” she replied glumly. “But later. All our customers will want to check out now that the rain is ending, so let’s help Louisa first.”
“I hate it when you say that. Is it me?”
“Not really. It’s just that there’s been a development.” She patted his forearm, opened the door and went inside.
“Development? That’s worse than ‘we need to talk.’”
* * *
THE SUNSET BLISTERED the horizon while Liz and Sam sat in their white wicker rocking chairs on the front porch of the big farmhouse. Maria was in the kitchen blending garden basil, oregano, chives and garlic into an Italian tomato sauce for their dinner. The smell wafted through the house and onto the porch.
Sam held out a glass of cabernet to Liz. “Here. With a sunset this intoxicating, the wine will only pale.”
“Stop being a poet,” she replied, but she took the glass. She sipped the wine and exhaled in appreciation. “You shouldn’t have.”
“I can’t let all the good stuff go to the semi-educated public.”
“Maybe we should.” Liz stared down into the wine.
“It’s an indulgence. Now tell me whatever it is you have to tell me,” Sam said.
Liz looked from the setting ball of fire in the west to her grandfather’s kindly face. He had the same eyes as she. Crystal blue, like the melting snow waters running down a rock spring. He was still a strikingly handsome man and she could see why her grandmother, Aileen, had fallen for him when they’d first met. He was kind, thoughtful and levelheaded. Liz was counting on that level head of his to help them now.
“Grandpa, today I got the property tax bill.”
“Ah,” he said. “It’s about that time again.”
“Something happened last year and the treasurer’s office never got our payment. We’re in arrears over twenty thousand dollars.”
“What?” Sam’s eyes grew wide. “Impossible! I paid it with our cashier’s check like you asked me to.”
She shook her head. “Apparently not. I called and talked to Jane Burley. She said there was no mistake. I’ve been all over the office, in the truck, even in your desk.”
Sam rubbed his face and sucked in a deep breath. “I know I paid it.”
“Let’s retrace your steps. First of all, I gave you the check the day before I left for France.”
He snapped his fingers and his face brightened. “That’s right! You were in France. I took you to the bus station the next morning.”
“And then you were going into town to run errands—and pay the taxes. You had the check with you in the truck.”
He looked at her quizzically with that cloud in his eyes she’d noticed lately. She had come to hate that look, and now she feared it.
“The truck. But I kept the check in my billfold.”
“Of course you would! I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe it’s stuck behind that secret flap you use sometimes?” Liz felt hope rising inside her like a warm spring breeze.
“Right!” Sam put down his glass of wine and reached in his jeans pocket for his wallet. He riffled through the wad of bills and peeled up the old leather flap beside the cash.
Liz felt her breath catch in her lungs. She leaned over