Читать книгу A Fine Year for Love - Catherine Lanigan - Страница 13

CHAPTER FIVE

FOR THE NEXT several days, Liz was busy with a hundred tasks. Because she was the general manager, the winemaker, the sales manager and the office manager all rolled into one, her list of duties was like a black hole. She never got it all done. On summer days, she worked dawn to dusk at the vineyard, and though she relished every moment of the work, it was still exhausting.

On Thursday morning, a series of semitrucks barreled up the country road that ran between the western edge of her property and the Mattuchi farm. Semis weren’t unusual on that road, which led to the highway, but a constant stream of eighteen-wheelers was out of the ordinary. Trucks carrying large loads of lumber, pipes and building materials could only mean one thing. Someone up the country road was building a new house or barn.

Liz didn’t have time to be curious or to gossip with neighbors. She had her eyes on the clouds gathering over Lake Michigan. She took out her cell phone and opened her weather radar app. Unfortunately, radar or not, the fickle westerly winds had a mind of their own once they reached the lake. The rain could easily pass her over and fall just north of her vineyard, showering her northern competition and jilting her vines. Again.

They were in desperate need of a good soaking. It had been nearly three weeks without rain, and this kind of summer heat would only do one thing—produce inferior grapes.

Liz lifted a cluster of Seyval blanc grapes she’d personally cluster-thinned three and a half weeks after fruit set. Though this grape produced the fresh and dry white wine they sold midseason in the tasting room, Louisa had suggested they experiment with it to produce a sparkling wine cuvée. Liz loved the idea—making something new out of a longtime standard grape in the vineyard.

As Liz slung her long leg over the seat of her ATV, she heard yet another truck downshift as it began its trek up the country road hill.

Natural curiosity urged Liz to ride over to the edge of her property to inspect the scene.

The semi was hauling a long flatbed trailer that held what looked like a mountain of lumber and three pallets of cement bags. She noticed there were piles of steel framing and insulated metal sheeting.

“Not a house,” she said to herself. The materials on this truck were used for warehouse and commercial buildings. Because their area was primarily farmland, she assumed one of her neighbors up the road was upgrading his or her silos. She’d heard from her grandfather last summer that Gerald Finstermaker, who owned a large apple orchard, had opened up a fifty-acre area, though no one knew exactly what he intended to plant there. The joke in town was that Gerald, paranoid and intensely secretive, was the only person who could keep his crop a secret until after the harvest. Five years ago, Gerald had experimented with roses and raised them under enormous grow tents, not so much to increase the productivity and excellence of the roses as to keep prying eyes out. After that fiasco, few in Indian Lake paid much attention to what Gerald Finstermaker did or didn’t do on his farm.

Liz was turning away from the fence to head back to the tasting room when she saw a second truck, also hauling a long trailer stacked with building materials. She laughed to herself and wished Gerald all the luck in the world with his new venture, whatever it was. She tossed the driver a friendly wave and then froze.

Following the last truck up the country road was a very familiar black Porsche. The top was down, and she could clearly see Gabe inside. He did not seem happy.

No doubt he was angry because the trucks were moving slowly up the grade and she’d already learned that Gabe liked to drive a bit on the fast side. But Gabe didn’t honk or try to pass them. He must not be in a hurry after all, she thought.

As Liz drove her ATV back down the slope, the first drops of rain stung her bare arms. Then the dark storm clouds moved over her property and opened up with a vengeance... The next second, the drops were huge, pelting her with enough force she found it difficult to see.

She bumped her way across the vineyard and smiled to herself. If she was caught in the rain, so was Gabe. And that meant both he and the interior of his expensive car had been deluged. She couldn’t help laughing a little. Served him right. Even if she hadn’t had a chance to pay him back for trespassing and stealing from her, Mother Nature had taken restitution into her own hands.

By the time she got to the utility barn, Liz was completely soaked. Her white shirt looked like a second skin and her shoes squished as she walked across the gravel to the tasting room, where she always kept a fresh shirt and a long black apron to wear when serving the tourists.

Liz noticed with satisfaction the parking lot was full of cars. The tourists would be trapped inside to avoid the downpour. That could only mean one thing. Increased sales.

Opening the door, Liz found the place packed. Sam was engrossed in one of his sales pitches with a man dressed in a golf shirt and khakis. Louisa was at the bar, pouring a flight of white wines for a strikingly beautiful, auburn-haired woman who wore a business suit and designer shoes.

The woman was not a local, but she was buying a lot of wine, if the smile on Louisa’s face and twinkle in her eye were any indication.

“I’ll be right there,” Liz told her chef de cave. Louisa nodded and continued talking to the customer.

Liz rushed into her office, shut the door and pulled out a clean white blouse from the closet. She towel-dried her hair and rolled it into a twist. She didn’t have a smidge of makeup left after the rain pelting, but she didn’t care. As she tied her apron on, she noticed the morning’s mail. As usual, Louisa had left it on the old leather desk blotter.

Sitting on top of the stack was the familiar green paper envelope from the County Treasurer’s office containing the yearly property tax bill. Always diligent about the vineyard’s accounting, Liz reached for the envelope and opened it.

What met her eyes was a shock.

“Twenty-three thousand four hundred dollars...past due?” Liz read the numbers again. Twice.

This was impossible! They were not a year in arrears.

“I paid this bill,” she groaned, sinking into the desk chair. She could remember purchasing the cashier’s check from the bank to pay the taxes. “There has to be some mistake.”

Liz called the Indian Lake County treasurer’s office and spoke to one of the clerks. The woman assured Liz that although the Crenshaw taxes had always been paid promptly each year, there had been no payment in the past twelve months. Liz thanked the woman and hung up.

She dropped her face to her hands, feeling as if the world had just crashed down upon her. There was no mistake. Liz now owed not only her taxes, but a penalty, as well. According to the bill, she had ninety days to pay in full.

How could I have forgotten to pay this? Liz berated herself. I’m always so careful...

She drew in a quick breath and clamped her hand over her mouth. “Sam.”

Last year, the taxes had been due when Liz was in France. She had left the cashier’s check with Sam for him to take to the treasurer’s office. Amid the flurry of her decisions about Louisa, the champagne vines and the newly built tasting room, she hadn’t given the taxes a second thought. And because she’d always paid the taxes with a cashier’s check, she had no record of the check being cashed.

This was about the same time she’d begun to notice the first signs of Sam’s forgetfulness, she realized with a lurch in her stomach. His slips were always minor, and she’d thought they were more of a nuisance than a real danger. But this...

Losing over twenty thousand dollars could ruin them.

Liz had already taken out two new mortgages to pay for the tasting room and all the improvements to the fermenting barn and the cellars. She doubted any bank in town would advance her any more money on her harvest. Liz had yet to prove herself and her wines’ abilities to bring in big sales. Though they were doing well—even better than she’d hoped with the tourist trade—she still hadn’t secured a large retailer. That was her plan for next year. Not this summer.

She had to find the check.

Panic overtook Liz as she scrambled through her desk drawers. Her search was in vain. She went to a small wall safe that Sam had installed behind a family portrait. In the safe, she found the deeds to the vineyard, copies of the mortgages, Sam’s will, her father’s will...but no cashier’s check.

Where would he have put it? she asked herself as she scanned the room. Through the office window, she saw the rain was dissipating. Then she spotted her truck.

She left the office through the side door and rushed across the parking lot to her pickup. She took everything out of the glove box and examined the papers. No check. She crammed everything back inside, then looked under both visors and checked under and between the seats.

She raced up to the farmhouse and went to the living room. She hoped she could find the check before she had to bring the incident to Sam’s attention. Then she would simply pay the taxes and Sam would be spared any concern or embarrassment. She rifled through the drawer in the end table next to Sam’s recliner. Suddenly she stopped. There was only one place he would have put the check for safekeeping.

His rolltop desk.

At the far end of the living room was a hundred-year-old burled walnut desk with a glassed-in upper library case that soared to the ceiling.

Liz pulled out every drawer and checked the contents. She went through old papers, newspaper clippings from her father’s high school years, her parents’ wedding announcement and their eulogies. She found old receipts and outdated warranties for appliances they’d long ago donated or thrown away. There were stacks of Christmas cards and sweet birthday cards her grandmother had given to Sam. But no check.

She took over half an hour to examine everything in the desk. Liz grew more concerned as she rifled through each drawer and cubbyhole with no results. At this point, Sam’s humiliation was only one of her concerns. Liz now realized that unless Sam could remember where he’d put that check, they would be facing a grave situation.

Someone else could have found the check and cashed it. If it had been destroyed, the money would be unrecoverable.

Liz wanted to scream, cry and curse. She had to believe she would find the missing money. She had to stay positive, even if it felt as if the world had just gone black.

* * *

LIZ’S MIND WAS REELING with the consequences of losing the check as she walked back to the tasting room, where Louisa and Sam were expecting and needing her assistance with the tourists who were continuing to drive up to the vineyard. Liz opened the door and nearly ran into Maddie.

“Liz!” Maddie exclaimed. Her broad smile instantly fell away. “What’s wrong?”

Liz tried to erase the worry and concern from her expression. “Huh?”

“You look terrible. Are you sick?”

“Sick? No. I just got caught in the rain is all. What are you doing here?”

“Ordering wine for the engagement party on Saturday.”

Saturday? That soon? Liz felt her stomach roil. On top of the new situation with the taxes, she’d have to see Gabe.

Maddie peered closely at Liz, disappointment filling her face. “You forgot.”

Liz grinned sheepishly. “You told me next Saturday.”

“This is next Saturday, you goof,” Maddie said, giving her friend a hug and mushing Liz’s still-wet hair. “You got caught in the rain, but I bet you’re glad for this downpour.”

“Love it.” Liz glanced at Maddie’s extensive list. She’d ordered two cases of chardonnay, two pinot grigio and two cabernet sauvignon. Hmm. Four white to two red. The preference for white was a trend Liz was noticing more and more. It further confirmed her decision to bring French chardonnay grapes to her vineyard. If this kind of market buying kept up, her Vignoles, Seyvals and Vidal blanc grapes would help her produce more white demi-sec and dry barrel fermented, and excellent ice wines. Liz smiled broadly. “Yes, the rain...” The vision of Gabe in his convertible shot across her mind. Something wasn’t right. “So, tell me about the engagement party. It’s still being held at Gabe...I mean, Nate’s parents’ house, right?”

“Yes, and Gina is like a field marshal with a battle plan. Honestly, Liz, I didn’t have to do much at all. She wanted Italian imported wines, and there’s nothing wrong with that—”

“I love them,” Liz interrupted.

“Yes, but I insisted on buying the wines because I wanted them to be yours. I love your wines and so does Nate—we wanted to show off your expertise. By the way, Nate has a lot of friends from Chicago who are going to spend the entire weekend in Indian Lake. We’re going to show them around on Sunday, but I was hoping we could bring them out here then. They’ll buy tons from you. You should see the orders they’ve been sending me for cupcakes.”

“You’re mailing them now?”

“Sure. I overnight them. It’s amazing. My bottom line is getting very happy,” Maddie gushed.

Liz knew her smile was a bit forced, but it was all she could manage. Maddie was one of her best friends, but she couldn’t possibly come right out and say her future brother-in-law was a thief. “Thanks for networking and marketing for me.”

“You already do the same for me,” Maddie said, lifting one of her Cupcake and Cappuccino Café brochures off the counter. “My Chicago franchise opened well. My investor told me nearly a dozen people have walked in with this brochure in their hands. The only place they could get them was out here at your winery.”

“True,” Liz said, admiring the brochure she’d made for Maddie, which was similar to one she’d designed for the vineyard. Liz had laid it out herself, using photos she’d taken of the vineyard, tasting rooms, fermenting barn and, of course, photogenic Louisa and even Grandpa Sam. She was proud of the natural talent she had when it came to selling. She liked success, and even tiny victories added up to big ones over time. But with her love of success came her fear of failure.

She rubbed the back of her neck. She hoped she’d feel better after she had a chance to talk to Sam about the cashier’s check. But still, she felt unsettled—as if some other secret was hanging in the air. Oddly, each time these feelings clutched at her, Gabe’s face flashed in her mind’s eye.

“You know what’s crazy, Maddie? I thought I saw Gabe earlier today.”

“Here?” Maddie asked, glancing around the tasting room. Her smile melted and was replaced with a serious expression.

“No. On the country road that runs along my western property line.” Liz scrutinized her friend’s green eyes. Maddie was hiding something. “What is it, Maddie?”

Maddie turned her gaze to a group of tourists. The women, young and tan, were laughing together. Louisa had just gone to their table, and they’d ordered another bottle of wine and more cheese and crackers. Liz waited for Maddie to look back at her. “You’re one of my very best friends...”

“Oh, this is going to be bad,” Liz said. “Gabe is up to something. I can feel it in my bones.”

“He just bought the Mattuchi vineyard.”

Shock hit her like the thunder rolling outside. “What? That’s impossible. First of all, the Mattuchis don’t have a vineyard. They have a farm. They grow a few grapes every year and make grape jelly and some horrible wine that my grandfather says even Boone’s Farm wouldn’t buy.”

“I know.”

“So what is he thinking?”

“He told Nate it’s good business,” Maddie explained.

“The Mattuchis have owned that land forever. I can’t believe Gabe would deprive them of their livelihood. This is just monstrous!” Liz exclaimed. “You know, if anything happened to me and my grandfather was left here all alone and some man-eating shark like Gabriel Barzonni came to steal his land away from him, I swear I would haunt these hills until the end of eternity to make sure the creep suffered the fires of—”

Maddie grabbed Liz’s arm and squeezed it. “Liz, honey, don’t you think you’re getting a little carried away? I mean, Gabe just bought part of their farm. We don’t know that he swindled them or hurt them.”

Liz was practically hyperventilating. She could see Gabe’s handsome, wicked eyes gloating at her.

“I’m just not believing this. The Barzonnis own enough land in this area to create a new state! They don’t need more land. And poor Mr. Mattuchi. I’ve known him since I was born. He and his wife are hardworking people, but he’s not a farmer. Never was. He’s repaired my equipment here for years. Best mechanic I’ve ever seen. Grandpa really likes him. Oh, I just can’t believe this!”

Maddie eyed her friend suspiciously and released her hand. “You know, Liz, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. What’s really going on?”

“I’ll tell you. I caught Gabe Barzonni two weeks ago,” Liz replied breathlessly. She felt flushed, and her heart was tripping inside her chest at a mile a minute.

“Doing what?” Maddie asked.

“He was stealing from me,” Liz answered self-righteously.

“Stealing what?”

“Dirt.”

Maddie 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.