Sinfandel Read Online Free Page B

carcasses, and the smell would be unbearable.
    Andy reined Buster to a stop and dismounted.  “See that?” he said, pointing at a muddy puddle of water where the drip line looked like it had been chewed almost in half.  “All this irrigation hose should’ve been strung up on the wires, out of the reach of rabbits and coyotes.”
    “It was like that when I bought it.”
    “That an excuse?”
    “No, it’s a reason,” I said.  “What will it take to fix it?”
    “I’ll have a crew come in and repair the damage.  We can’t raise it now with all the leaf growth, but after pruning this winter, it can be raised up and tied to the wire.”
    He got back in the saddle and clucked to Buster to move on.
    I decided it was time to have a little fun with Andy.  “I want you to look into other irrigation materials,” I said as I trotted Emlie to catch up with him.  “Copper would be coyote and rabbit proof, right?”
    He gaped at me.  “Are you insane?”
    I shook my head. 
    “Married to Bill Gates?”
    “Copper is the preferred material for water supply lines,” I said.
    “For a house.  You’re talking about miles of pipe.  You know what that would cost?”
    “No, that’s why I want you to find out.”
    “Lady, you’re a real piece of work.”
    “And when the crews are working in the vineyard, I want you to enforce a strict anti-cursing rule.  Foul language has been shown to have a negative effect on water molecules, and hence, could affect grape production.”
    It was hard to keep a straight face when he scowled at me, but I managed to pull it off.  “No “S” word, no “GD” words, and definitely no “F” word,” I said.
    “You’re presuming that they’ll speak English.”
    “The vines comprehend the emotion behind the words, no matter the language.”
    The look he gave me reminded me of someone who’d just swallowed a live potato bug.
    I let Buster take a slight lead, and I grinned at Andy’s back.  “I’d like some quotes on installing a speaker system in the vineyard, too.  Do you think the vines would prefer Andrea Bocelli or Luciano Pavaratti?”
    “Dean Martin,” he said over his shoulder, a hint of a laugh in his voice.
    This was going to be fun.
    After we returned to the barn, I made him wait while I unsaddled the horses. 
    “I hope you weren’t serious about wanting cash up front,” I said as I rubbed the sweaty spot behind Buster’s ears after I pulled off the bridle.
    “Maybe not about the cash part, but the up front part for sure.”
    When the horses were put away, I wrote him a check and made a mental note to get a cash advance to cover it.  A bounced check would probably end our working relationship before it ever began.  I smiled as I watched him limp, bow-legged, to his pickup, and I waved as he drove away.  As soon as his truck was out of sight, I gathered up some drip irrigation connectors, fired up the engine on my quad runner, and went back to fix the breaks we found in the irrigation line.
     
    All day long I’d been trying to convince myself Roger couldn’t be the Grass Valley sniper I’d heard about on the news that morning.  Who was I kidding?  Roger was losing his wife, family, home, and his job, and he was on anti-psychotic drugs. 
    My friend Dave was a patrolman for the CHP, so I gave him a call.  Without giving any specific details, I asked him if he knew the year of the Mustang involved in the sniper incident in Grass Valley.
    “I don’t know.  Why are you asking, Kate?” 
    “I’m just curious.” 
    “You think you know who the shooter is?”
    “I just want to know more about the car.”
    “Okay, but tell me about the guy.”
    “He’s depressed.  His wife left him,” I said.
    “So, we’re looking at a suicide-by-cop scenario?”
    “Suicide-by-cop?” I asked.
    “Yeah.  Guy’s depressed, wants to end it all but hasn’t got the guts to do it himself.  He starts shooting at cars, knowing eventually someone’s gonna