Murder at the Wine Tasting Read online

  Murder at the Wine Tasting

  A Margie Lauderdale Cozy Mystery

  Liz Turner

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Other Books by Liz Turner:

  Chapter 1

  Margie collapsed onto the bed in her dorm room, her eyes aching and dry. She was so tired that all she could think about was sleeping. Every single muscle in her body felt as though it had been aching for her whole life. She garnered more than a dozen gray hairs during the semester, and she was pretty sure she’d lost weight off of her already skinny body.

  But it was worth it; she’d finally passed culinary school.

  Sleep, much to her dismay, was not in her immediate future. There was packing and getting out of the dorms before they charged her for another two months. She had her internship in the Caribbean to prepare for, stuff to buy, stuff to sell, and she desperately needed a haircut.

  But first and foremost, she had to figure out where she was going to live.

  It was three weeks until her flight. Margie, despite usually being so good with details, had let that giant detail slip through her fingers without even noticing until this morning.

  So with a sigh, she heaved herself out of bed and dragged her hair and clothes back into some semblance of order. Tossing clothing and toiletries into bags, she fought to keep her eyes open. Good thing she hadn’t brought much with her, just a few books, some clothing, towels, and toiletries. She hadn’t had free time for hobbies and had learned her over-packing lesson the year before. So her bags this year were significantly smaller.

  Margie glanced at herself in the mirror, her eyes going wide at what she saw. She touched the bruised-looking purple circles under her eyes, the shoulder-length curly black hair and the hollowness in her cheeks and winced. The semester had taken a toll on her body, no doubts about it.

  Frowning, Margie threw a blanket over the mirror and set about getting the rest of her chores done. She cleaned out her mailbox, surprised at the large stack of letters she found there. Stuffing all of them into her purse, Margie hauled her bag over her shoulder.

  After checking to make sure all her things were packed, Margie shut the door on her student life for good. Her “dorm” was actually a small apartment off campus, usually reserved for temporary teachers that needed a place to stay. The school couldn’t put her in the true dorms; they were only for men. Those dorms were down the street, near the school. A school that was a few blocks too far to be convenient, but it was better than nothing. She locked the door, stuffing the key into an envelope the office had given her.

  Spring was well on its way, ushering away the brown, icy remnants of winter with tiny specks of green. The trees were just beginning to bud, the grass was coming back to life as the frost slowly melted back into the thirsty ground. The air was almost warm, but the wind still had a bite to it that cut through her jacket, finding every gap in her clothing. Margie shivered, readjusting her pack and making her slow way across the field to the housing office.

  “Congratulations, Margie,” said a voice as soon as she had stepped inside. The housing mistress, the woman in charge of the dorms and the housing for all the students, was frowning at her, her fists pressed hard against the ample curve of her hips. The woman was broad shouldered and mean, her lips perpetually curled into a look of distaste. The tone of the housing mistress said she was happy that Margie was leaving. Margie was so tired that the woman’s tone cut into her like the wind, and she winced. Instead of speaking, she silently handed over her key, nodded, and walked out of the door, happy she would never step foot in this place again.

  It was a little easier to breathe as soon as Margie was outside, and the cold helped her to stay awake as she trudged down the hill to the closest hotel. It would do for the night until she could figure out somewhere else to stay.

  Her mind scoured the mental list of people that might open their homes to her for the next three weeks and came up with a depressingly short list. Camelia and her new husband Officer Ray Brighton, down in her hometown of Bristol, were currently packing to move into their first home. Margie couldn’t barge in on them right now, even if they were her best friends. She knew they would welcome her, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. That left her friend Dolly, who had three children and a fourth on the way, and Margie’s parents all the way back in Lakeshore.

  Margie pondered if there was enough money left in her bank account for a bus ticket back to her birthplace. After checking in to her hotel room, Margie dumped her mail onto the bed, hoping some news from home would cheer her.

  Dear Margie:

  I know you’re busy, so don’t bother answering. I just wanted to let you know that Ray and I are going to have a baby! I hope you have time to stop by, Margie. I miss you so badly, and it would mean the world to me if you could come to the shower. We’ll make it whatever day you can be here.

  Love you and proud of you, our Chef super star!

  Camelia Brighton

  Margie laughed out loud at the huge swirls of Camelia’s handwriting. It was barely legible most of the time, but when she was excited, it got nearly impossible to decipher. Pulling her pen and paper from her bags, Margie penned a quick response, congratulating her best friends on their coming baby. How times had changed!

  Here I am, almost a chef, and my two best friends are having their own kids. Wow. So much has changed in the last year! It feels like everything will be different.

  There was also a letter from her mother, a bill for her consideration, and a letter from her younger sister Julia, begging her for a visit. Margie wondered if Julia and her husband Martin would put her up for three weeks. Sighing, she turned her attention to the final letter. It was in a handwriting she didn’t immediately recognize. She turned it over a few times before opening it.

  This last letter was from her friend Dolly.

  ***

  “Oh my goodness, Margie. I don’t know how to thank you for answering my letter so quickly,” Dolly stood at the top of the stairs, her blue eyes lit up like Christmas. The train had dropped Margie off right outside of Bristol, in the middle of the hills that surrounded the small town on all sides. Dolly nearly tumbled down them trying to help her with her things.

  Dolly’s red hair was neatly pinned back, as usual, wrapping in a delicate pink headband. She looked every inch the 1950's housewife, which was strange, considering it was 1975. Dolly had never been in style; she was the local oddity. Her bakery in the town of Bristol was situated right next to the police station where Margie’s friend Ray worked. She’d stopped in so many times over the years that she and Dolly had gotten to be rather close.

  “Here, let me take this, sugar,” Dolly reached for one of Margie’s bags and she huffed in relief. Although she was obviously with child, her big belly didn’t get in the way of her helping. “Let’s get your things in the car.”

  Dolly drove a 1960’s Mustang; the muscle on the car was nearly overwhelming. It was olive green and stood proudly in the parking lot like a man in a bodybuilding competition. Throwing her stuff into the back, Dolly opened the door for Margie and hopped into the driver’s seat. Margie admired the olive green and tan interior for a moment before settling in, the warmth of the seats feeling like a hot pad against her aching back.

  “I came as quickly as I could,” Margie said, brushing her out-of-control curls back from her face. Dolly pulled out of the train s
tation, the steering wheel looking massive in her tiny hands. “So what exactly happened to the chef who was supposed to be working for you?”

  “Well, you know Grayson and I have been trying to get the winery open for almost a year now,” Dolly frowned at the windshield, keeping her eyes on the road. “Every time we thought we had it, something would fall through. It was like juggling sand, things just running through our fingers. Well, anyway, the chef that signed up with us a month ago was the final piece we needed to get it off the ground. We hired him without a thought; it seemed like providence had finally put all the pieces together.” Her face twisted with anger as Margie watched, her knuckles gripping the wheel so hard, they turned white. “Turns out that ‘chef’ had no real schooling or anything. He was just someone who liked to cook up schemes. The whole resume he sent us was lies, even his name was a lie. The phoney stayed in our winery hostel for three days, drinking and eating with the rest of us, but the moment we asked him to get to work, he...” she snapped her fingers, her pretty face falling. “Gone. No sign of him.”

  “Oh, Dolly, I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

  She laughed, her voice like bells chiming. “Oh, not to fret, Miss Margie Lauderdale. We’re checking up on the next one from top to toes, so there will not be a repeat next time, but until we get a new chef into the place, we needed a temp we can trust.”

  Margie laughed, her eyes lighting up. “I only have three weeks until my flight; I have five weeks until my internship starts, but I wanted an early start to finding a place down there. I can’t give you more than that, Dolly, but I will do what I can.”

  She sighed, the knots disappearing from her shoulders. “A lifesaver you are, Margie.”

  “Right back at you. I had forgotten to find myself a place to stay for the three weeks until I leave!”

  They both laughed, tears pricking their eyes. “Then it was providence that brought you around. Good thing too; you look like you need some rest, girl. You look like someone dragged you through a pasta roller.”

  Sighing, Margie rubbed at her tired face. “I kind of feel that way. Finals were...” she hesitated, trying, to sum up her experiences as succinctly as possible, “difficult.”

  Just then Margie and Dolly turned off of the main road, the signs pointing them in the direction of Heavenly Springs Winery and Hotel. Margie glanced around in awe, her eyes roving over the scenery like a starved man might watch a waiter bringing his dinner. The trees, mostly all white pines and Fraser furs for the Christmas tree market, filled the air with the cool scent of winter. The woods here were still brushed with snow, the blanket of pine needles hushing all the sounds of the world around them. A hush fell over the car, and Margie’s eyes widened when the winery building first came into view.

  The hills were covered from top to bottom with grapevines wrapping over one another to reach for the sunlight. The sunset glittered down from a cloudless sky, lighting up the whole space with riots of greens and browns. The cabins were all stained a deep chocolate brown and comprised of huge logs piled on top of one another. They screamed rustic luxury and Margie was instantly in love. Birdsongs flitted from one end of the clear to the next; the only other sound was the gentle rush of running water from somewhere nearby.

  It was so peaceful and perfect; Margie gaped at her surroundings, unable to believe her good luck. She was going to work and live here?

  “Here we are, Margie! Let’s get you settled in,” Dolly pulled into the grass, parking right in front of a tiny little cabin.

  Her heart got caught up in her throat as Dolly opened the door of the tiny cabin and dropped Margie’s bag into the center of the queen-sized bed. The bed was wrapped in a thick, fluffy looking down comforter. The walls were a deep, rich, cherry-colored wood that looked cozy. The floor was the same cherry wood but was covered with a fluffy white rug. The fireplace was finished in white-painted stone which abutted the tiny kitchenette. There was also a dresser in pale, almost gray colored wood with white and silver accents. A tiny bathroom stood off to one side. The whole room glowed warmly from the already lit fireplace.

  “Well, what do you think?” Dolly asked, nervously, rubbing her arms against the chill.

  Margie started, realizing she’d been staring into her room for a good minute without saying a word. “Oh my goodness, Dolly, it’s so pretty! What a fabulously relaxing looking bit of heaven you have here,” Margie stepped inside, smiling as Dolly’s whole face lit up.

  “I’m so glad you like it. As you know, you’re really one of the first people to see it. The cabins are small, but they are pretty far away from one another for privacy, and they are so comfy,” Dolly rambled on for a few more minutes about the features as Margie settled down on the bed, running her fingers over the fluffy down comforter.

  To think I was homeless a day ago, Margie thought, almost laughing at her good fortune. What were the chances of Dolly needing me so badly?

  “How is your family, Dolly?”

  Her face lit up even brighter. “Awesome, Margie, just awesome. The oldest has taken to music and is having a little concert with the neighborhood kids next week. They are at home with my sister, Melissa, who just loves them to pieces. She’s probably letting them eat too much sugar and stay up too late,” Dolly said wistfully, her eyes nearly glowing. She looked so incredibly happy for a moment that Margie almost envied her.

  You had your chance at that life, and you chose this one. Many times, in fact. You could have married your childhood sweetheart, Keith, back in Lakeshore like your parents wanted you to. Or you could have married Officer Ray Brighton; he loved you once upon a time. But for the first time in Margie’s life, there wasn’t even the possibility of marriage; Keith had long ago married Margie’s cousin, Greta. The only other man who had ever been interested in her was Ray, and he was now married to Camelia, Margie’s best friend.

  And that’s the way it should be, she told herself sternly.

  Margie turned back to Dolly, who was still chatting lovingly about her three (soon to be four) little darlings. As Dolly spoke, she absently ran her hand over her stomach, a loving smile on her lips. Margie was amazed that a human being could love three other people as much as Dolly seemed to love her kids. It seemed impossible to Margie; she didn’t like anything in the world that much. Except for maybe cooking.

  “Well, we won’t need you tomorrow, but we can do a tour of the place then,” Dolly said after taking a hard look at her new cook. Margie must have looked as sleepy as she felt. “You rest up, and we’ll catch up whenever you wake.” Dolly left her to settle into her new temporary little home. Margie went around and touched every piece of the room, from the little bricks in the fireplace to the chrome faucets in the tiny, but beautifully decorated, bathroom. She was very, very sure that she would wake up in the morning, back in her hotel room by the school, and all of this luxurious beauty would be a dream.

  Margie threw herself back on the bed, telling herself that she just wanted to enjoy the view from the bed for a few moments. But there was something hypnotic about the crackle of the fireplace. Snow started to fall outside, filling her window with the gentle hiss of ice on glass. And the combination of the two sounds and the soft lighting lulled her to sleep as full darkness fell over the winery.

  Chapter 2

  Margie’s eyes kept trying to bug out of her skull as she passed amazing sight after amazing sight. She couldn’t seem to stop staring at everything around her, her jaw dropping a little as they walked from room to room.

  “This is the grand hall; this is where your lovely dinner creations will be served,” Dolly said, pointing, rubbing her belly with her other hand.

  The dining hall was something to behold. It was massive but still managed to feel intimate. The warm wood paneling matched the paneling in Margie’s little cabin. The tables were dressed to the nines in wreaths made of freshly picked pine branches. Candles glowed all around, lending their light to the giant fireplace. Margie had learned that all the fireplaces we
re gas and needed no refilling with wood; it made them viable as heat sources without needing tending. And they even had clever little safety latches in place, designed to shut off the gas if the fire started spreading where it wasn’t supposed to.

  It was the only reason Margie hadn’t frozen to death when she’d fallen asleep on top of her heavy down comforter instead of underneath it.

  “We’re going to have buffet style breakfasts and lunches in the front room, but dinners will be something special. This way, people can eat whenever they are hungry during the day and then have the fancy meal at night. You won’t be responsible for cooking all of it, but you will be responsible for selecting menus and training the staff to keep the trays of food coming.” She pointed over to the lines of serving trays in the front room, which they could see through the formal dining room’s front door. The front room wasn’t as stunning as the formal dining room, but it was still pretty, the walls in a rich, forest green that was accented by the pines right outside of the giant picture windows. “Our first meal will be tomorrow; make sure it’s something that will be able to sit for an hour or so over the heaters. And keep in mind we only have eight people coming in the morning so just lunches and then dinner will do.”

  Margie nodded, feeling a little overwhelmed. “It should be cold tomorrow, so we’ll focus on warm soups. Perhaps a nice chicken noodle soup and a rich potato soup. We’ll keep small bread loaves too, for dipping.”

  Dolly nodded. “My bakery takes care of any sweets, so you just focus on meals. My husband will be running the show here; I need to get back to town and open up the bakery for the day. I have a girl I’m training to keep things going, and I’m going to do a surprise inspection.” Dolly cackled, and Margie didn’t envy whoever was minding the store. “It’ll be hard to run both places until we get some reliable help in both, but it will be worth it to get this place back in business. Old Man Henry really loved this place, too.”