Parra - A Case of Syrah, Syrah

Also available by Nancy J. Parra

The Perfect Proposals Mysteries

Newlywed Dead

Bodice of Evidence

Engaged in Murder

The Bakers Treat Mysteries

Flourless to Stop Him

Murder Gone A-Rye

Gluten for Punishment

Nancy J. Parra

NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

PUBLISHERS NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reaction to the recipes contained in this book.

Copyright 2017 by Nancy J. Parra

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.

Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.

Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.

ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-433-2

ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-434-9

ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-68331-435-6

Cover illustration by Jesse Reisch

www.crookedlanebooks.com

Crooked Lane Books

34 West 27th St., 10th Floor

New York, NY 10001

First Edition: December 2017

For my mom

T aylor, your cat is on my car again. Aunt Jemmas tone told me that she was in a mood.

Shes a cat, I explained as I got up from the kitchen table where I was working on my laptop. She loves to sun on the roof of your convertible. Besides, you love her.

I also love the new finish on my car, Aunt Jemma scolded. I dont want cat paws on it.

I pushed out the screen door and snagged my orange-and-white-striped cat, Clementine, from the warm roof. Aunt Jemmas on a tear, I said as I kissed and cuddled my kitty. She must have broken up with her latest boyfriend.

Clemmie settled into my arms for a quick hug, then leaped down as I entered the kitchen again. She slinked away to find a nice box in the hall closet. Since she was a fan of hiding in small spaces, I kept a few empty boxes for her around the house. Some she used; others she ignored until I started to fill them with other things. Then she pushed those things out and climbed in. It was a game she liked to play with me. For example, she knew she shouldnt be on Aunt Jemmas convertible but loved to sneak up there anyway. She was a cat. She did what she wanted. I admired her for it.

Your car is rescued, I said as I made a cup of tea. Aunt Jemma and I lived in Sonoma, California. She owned a small winery with a midcentury modern home settled on the top of a hill. Grapevineszinfandel, to be exactsurrounded the house. I stayed in the pool house in the back. Beyond the pool house was a small building where the winery offered wine tastings, a place to picnic, a bocce ball field, and a gazebo for small weddings and parties.

Aunt Jemma had made a killing in the dot-com boom of the nineties and bought the little winery because she loved the drama and prestige of being a proprietor. What little shed known about wine making hadnt mattered because shed hired Juan Martinez to make the wine. Juans family had been making wine in Sonoma County for a hundred years.

What are your plans for the day? I asked and sat down at the table. This house had been remodeled to an open concept with vaulted ceilings. There was a huge fireplace in the middle of the house. Spanish-tile floors appeared in the kitchen, while wood ran throughout the rest of the sprawling four bedrooms. My favorite part was the atrium patio adjacent to the living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows acted as the living room walls, and there were redwoods sheltering the patio from the sun. When you sat on the patio, you looked out over the vineyard toward the rolling hills.

Right now though, I didnt have time to sit on the patio dreaming. I was busy planning out my first Wine Country Tour.

I have lunch with the ladies at the club, Aunt Jemma said airily. She was a tall, thin woman who loved to play up her hippy roots with flowing bohemian clothing. She kept her long gray hair pulled back in a loose braid. I thought you were going to yoga with your friend Holly.

I glanced at the time. Darn, Im going to be late. I closed my laptop and grabbed my yoga bag near the door. Luckily Id dressed for yoga an hour before. Today I wore black capris-cut yoga pants and a flowery T-shirt. I slipped my feet into all-purpose fitness shoes.

Dont forget theres a wine-tasting group coming by at two. Its supposed to be two busloads of seniors, and Cristal is going to need help.

Ill be back by two, I said and left the house. Cristal Bennet was a young sommelier who worked days at the winery and evenings at one of the pricier restaurants in town. Wineries in the area were mostly sprawling farms, and the two-lane road to town was narrow and winding. I recently had traded my Mini Cooper for a 1970s VW van. The van had been painted green and reminded me of the Mystery Machine. But the engine was solid, and the inside could comfortably carry seven passengers plus the driver, which made it the perfect vehicle to haul my little tour groups.

Id grown up in Sonoma but moved out after high school. For most of my twenties, Id been working in San Francisco as a high-powered advertising executive. Then Aunt Jemma had had a heart attack. My mom had died early of heart disease, and Aunt Jemma was my only living relative, so Id given up my job to move back to Sonoma with her and ensure that she remained healthy and active. Which, apparently, she was. At sixty-five, she got around more than I did. I often wondered if her heart attack hadnt been a health scare at all but a way to get me to move closer. I wouldnt have put it past her.

Id been living out on the vineyard for six months now, and I was restless. Aunt Jemma didnt really need me, but every time I mentioned going back to advertising, her chest would hurt. I loved the winery, but it wasnt my passion. I might have liked to be a sommelier, but I didnt have the nose needed for being a wine expert. I could fake it, but I was a straightforward kind of person who loved peopleI wasnt much into faking things. So instead of advertising, I had dreamed up my own small business. Taylor OBrian Presents Off the Beaten Path Wine Country Tours. My premise was that I would take guests to some of the hidden gems in Sonoma County. There were a lot of them, like the Henry farmhouse, full of Californian art; the Witches Brew Winery, which catered to pagans; and Sonnys Open-Air Winery, which featured the work of plein air artists and other paintings.

As far as I was concerned, there was a real need for niche-market wine tours. There was more to Sonoma County than the endless ornate, Tuscan-looking wine-tasting houses that dotted the main roads, attracting tourists.

Why, even Aunt Jemmas winery was niche. It was called Sookies Vineyard because it was supposed to be haunted by a spirit named Sookie. Aunt Jemma held sances out in the yard once a month and hosted psychics and psychic fairs. It adds to the charm, she declared.