Plum Gone: A Sonoma Wine Country Cozy Mystery (Sonoma Wine Country Cozy Mysteries Book 2) by A. J. Carton Page A
Authors: A. J. Carton
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simple. The way it was.
She took a deep breath. “You know, Jack,” she said. “I don’t think I could have phrased it better, myself. That’s exactly how I feel when I’m with Harry. That I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
And because that was true. Because Jack’s treasuring his time alone with his grandsons gave Emma the freedom to treasure her time alone with Harry, any jealousy she might have felt about his comment vanished into thin air.
They had pulled up to the service entrance behind Sergio’s restaurant. Since bailing Sergio out of his financial troubles and buying into the business, Jack had a parking space just to the left of the restaurant’s back door. He turned off the ignition and got out of the car. By the time Emma had gathered up her purse and unbuckled her seatbelt, Jack was opening her door.
Sunday night at Sergio’s was wine pairing night. Representatives of three or four of the many local vineyards prepared a tasting and then educated the customers on the optimal wine for each of their courses. That night, among others, Barry Buchanon from Buchanon Vineyards had brought along his master vintner, Giuseppe Pieri, an eighty year old Italian from Lucca in Tuscany. Despite almost fifty years living in Sonoma County, Peppino, as he was locally known, still spoke Italian like a Tuscan, pronouncing the soft “c” before a vowel like a “sh”. So for cento or a hundred, he said “shento” instead of “chento”; “shinque” for “cinque” or “five”.
Emma loved practicing her Italian with the tall, blue-eyed, ruddy-faced man when she visited the Buchanon Vineyard to research her book . Even in his eighties, Peppino knew how to flirt.
“ Ciao, bella ,” he called to her from behind the restaurant’s sleek mahogany and steel bar - interrupting an animated conversation in Italian with Sergio, the restaurant’s owner and celebrity chef.
Emma waved back. Then Sergio broke away from the conversation to take Emma and Jack to what had become their usual table near the kitchen.
“ Ciao , Em-ma,” he greeted Emma with a cursory kiss on each cheek, pronouncing each of the m’s in her name, Italian style. “ Come va , Jack? What’s up?” he added to Jack. Despite his friendly greeting, something in the young man’s tone signaled to Emma that Sergio was annoyed.
“ Senti , listen,” he added, squatting down by their table as they took their seats. “Peppino will be over in a minute. I know you want to talk to him about some wines for your dinner, Jack. But I gotta warn you, the old man’s making me trouble.”
“Trouble?” Jack asked.
“He’s steamed because the HoCo guys dropped by tonight for dinner. They’re staying out at the Honorage Inn and Spa. This morning, Barry invited them up to Buchanon Vineyards to look around and Peppino lost his temper. You know. Same old thing about the Made in China wine. Now they turn up here as my customers and Peppino refuses to talk to them.” Sergio pounded the table in frustration jiggling the forks and knives. “I told him, I can’t do that. Somebody comes to my restaurant, I gotta serve them. And you know what he says?” Sergio looked at Jack.
Jack shrugged.
“He said, ‘just like a Sicilian. You’d do business with the devil,’” Sergio replied.
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Sergio answered. “Next thing, you two walked in. Besides,” he added, “what could I say? I would do business with the devil – as long as he pays his bill.”
“Forget about it,” Jack said, eyeing the customers in the restaurant over Emma’s shoulder. “So where are they?”
“Who?” Sergio asked.
“The Chinese,” Jack replied, his eyes still scanning the room. Then he stopped and squinted at a table in the far corner of the crowded restaurant. “ Do they pay their bill?”
“I’ll say,” Sergio laughed. “And they know a lot more about what they’re eating than the dumb clucks
She took a deep breath. “You know, Jack,” she said. “I don’t think I could have phrased it better, myself. That’s exactly how I feel when I’m with Harry. That I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
And because that was true. Because Jack’s treasuring his time alone with his grandsons gave Emma the freedom to treasure her time alone with Harry, any jealousy she might have felt about his comment vanished into thin air.
They had pulled up to the service entrance behind Sergio’s restaurant. Since bailing Sergio out of his financial troubles and buying into the business, Jack had a parking space just to the left of the restaurant’s back door. He turned off the ignition and got out of the car. By the time Emma had gathered up her purse and unbuckled her seatbelt, Jack was opening her door.
Sunday night at Sergio’s was wine pairing night. Representatives of three or four of the many local vineyards prepared a tasting and then educated the customers on the optimal wine for each of their courses. That night, among others, Barry Buchanon from Buchanon Vineyards had brought along his master vintner, Giuseppe Pieri, an eighty year old Italian from Lucca in Tuscany. Despite almost fifty years living in Sonoma County, Peppino, as he was locally known, still spoke Italian like a Tuscan, pronouncing the soft “c” before a vowel like a “sh”. So for cento or a hundred, he said “shento” instead of “chento”; “shinque” for “cinque” or “five”.
Emma loved practicing her Italian with the tall, blue-eyed, ruddy-faced man when she visited the Buchanon Vineyard to research her book . Even in his eighties, Peppino knew how to flirt.
“ Ciao, bella ,” he called to her from behind the restaurant’s sleek mahogany and steel bar - interrupting an animated conversation in Italian with Sergio, the restaurant’s owner and celebrity chef.
Emma waved back. Then Sergio broke away from the conversation to take Emma and Jack to what had become their usual table near the kitchen.
“ Ciao , Em-ma,” he greeted Emma with a cursory kiss on each cheek, pronouncing each of the m’s in her name, Italian style. “ Come va , Jack? What’s up?” he added to Jack. Despite his friendly greeting, something in the young man’s tone signaled to Emma that Sergio was annoyed.
“ Senti , listen,” he added, squatting down by their table as they took their seats. “Peppino will be over in a minute. I know you want to talk to him about some wines for your dinner, Jack. But I gotta warn you, the old man’s making me trouble.”
“Trouble?” Jack asked.
“He’s steamed because the HoCo guys dropped by tonight for dinner. They’re staying out at the Honorage Inn and Spa. This morning, Barry invited them up to Buchanon Vineyards to look around and Peppino lost his temper. You know. Same old thing about the Made in China wine. Now they turn up here as my customers and Peppino refuses to talk to them.” Sergio pounded the table in frustration jiggling the forks and knives. “I told him, I can’t do that. Somebody comes to my restaurant, I gotta serve them. And you know what he says?” Sergio looked at Jack.
Jack shrugged.
“He said, ‘just like a Sicilian. You’d do business with the devil,’” Sergio replied.
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Sergio answered. “Next thing, you two walked in. Besides,” he added, “what could I say? I would do business with the devil – as long as he pays his bill.”
“Forget about it,” Jack said, eyeing the customers in the restaurant over Emma’s shoulder. “So where are they?”
“Who?” Sergio asked.
“The Chinese,” Jack replied, his eyes still scanning the room. Then he stopped and squinted at a table in the far corner of the crowded restaurant. “ Do they pay their bill?”
“I’ll say,” Sergio laughed. “And they know a lot more about what they’re eating than the dumb clucks
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