How to Dine on Killer Wine: A Party-Planning Mystery Read Online Free

any help?” he said to Rob, but he was grinning at me.
    “No thanks, Kyle. Javier will take care of things. I’ll talk to you later.”
    The man named Kyle nodded, shook hands with Rob, and walked to his silver BMW parked nearby. He gave me a last, almost leering look before he opened the door and entered his car.
    What was up with this guy?
    Rob signaled a short Hispanic man standing near the three-car garage, next to two large buildings. I hadn’t noticed him when we’d arrived, distracted by the picturesque winery. Dressed in baggy jeans, a plaid shirt, and a wide-brimmed straw hat, the man set down the sprayer he’d been holding and walked over.
    “Javier, would you take the bags for these lovely ladies and put them in the guest rooms, please?”
    Javier, his leathery skin tanned to a deep russet color, nodded silently. He picked up my mother’s oversized, expensive YSL suitcase and my compact, sale-priced Target bag and toted them toward the side of the house, where I guessed there was another, less grand entrance.
    I checked my Mickey Mouse watch: a little after ten o’clock. I looked forward to working on decorating the garden area, setting up the games, arranging the serving tables, and generally planning the logistics of the party. I’d been out to the Purple Grape only once before, more than a month ago, and although I’d taken pictures and made sketches, I knew I’d find things I’d overlooked that could cause a wrinkle in the final plans.
    “Follow me,” Rob said, no sign of the problem with JoAnne in his happy expression. He motioned us toward the front entrance. “You can both freshen up, if you like, and then I’d be happy to give your mother a tour of the place.”
    “I’d love that,” Mother said as she followed Rob along the garden path.
    I eyed the area as we passed through, trying to picture the setup. Serving tables on the mosaic slate patio. Lights strung across the grape arbor that shaded the entryway. Real and fake grapes decorating the fountain, the front door, and the outdoor furniture.
    “You might enjoy a mud bath or spa treatment this afternoon,” Rob said as we followed him through the door into the tiled entrance, “before we head over to the culinary college. I’m sure there will be plenty of time to relax.”
    The Christophers had created a house suitable foran issue of
Tuscany Home Digest
. Rob led us past the main living area, which featured two large brown leather couches separated by a stone coffee table that was covered with a sheet of glass. Chunky leather chairs decorated with plush pillows in warm shades of red, orange, and brown filled in the large space by the fireplace. Everything was so pristine, I felt as if I were in the lobby of an exclusive hotel rather than someone’s home.
    Rob led us down the tiled hallway, which was flanked by cream-colored walls and lined with wrought-iron lighting fixtures interspersed with glass display cases. Inside the cases were wine-related memorabilia, everything from vintage wine corks neatly set in rows, to prestigious wine labels from around the world, including a Rothschild—the only one I recognized in my limited upscale wine experience.
    I stopped in front of the last display in the hallway. “These are amazing!” I said to Rob, who was a few steps ahead of me. He and Mother turned back.
    “Ah, yes. My antique wine screws. Aren’t they interesting? These are from the Old West.”
    I studied the memorabilia through the glass, marveling at the intricate details of the handles. Several, large enough for big cowboy hands, were made from gnarled wood that had been polished to a sheen. Others sported ornate keys and western ranch symbols and horns from bulls and steers.
    “They drank wine in the Old West?” I asked, remembering the western movies I’d watched as a kid with one of my dads. “I thought they only drank whiskey.”
    “Oh, sure they did. Back then people took pride in their wine paraphernalia and their