A Fine Year for Love (Shores of Indian Lake) Read online

  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 oth
er 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.

  CHAPTER SIX

  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.