“Then let’s meet the rest of your new hires,” Max said.
“Of course.” Arthur pulled his elaborately folded handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed his damp brow, refolded it and put it back into his pocket. “But before we do, sir, I must tell you—I had to fire an employee, one Rita Grapplee. She was caught on video helping herself to the contents of the gift shop, and when she was discovered selling those pieces to the guests, her excuse was that she wasn’t paid enough to maintain her desired lifestyle. She seemed quite convinced that was adequate reason to pilfer.”
Max sighed and looked at the ground. “Will we have a lawsuit?”
“We perhaps would have, but she hasn’t reported to her parole officer. She’s effectively disappeared, one supposes onto the streets. Sir, while I respect your desire to help a person in rehab, Miss Grapplee had drug paraphernalia strewn throughout her apartment.” Arthur’s accent was crisp and disdainful. “The police are investigating.”
“That explains a lot.” Kellen remembered Rita’s behavior on the day Horst had picked her up from the winery. “She was so...” So out there, so bold, so sure she could do anything without repercussions. She had asked too many question, taken photos of the van. Now, here, after the trip to the mountains, Kellen suspected Rita Grapplee had been on someone’s payroll, paid to watch and report Kellen’s every movement. She should have seen it before—but before, she hadn’t suspected she was being hunted. “Let me know if she turns up,” Kellen told Arthur. “I’d like to talk to her.”
“Of course, Miss Adams.” Arthur led them toward the piano, and as he did, he said, “Let me introduce you to our newest outdoor arrival, our pianist and a talented musician, Dan Matyasovitch.”
DAN MATYASOVITCH:
MALE, CAUCASIAN ANCESTRY, 60 YO, 5'10", 175 LBS. THICK DARK GLASSES (VISUALLY IMPAIRED?), ECCENTRIC FACIAL HAIR. ACCENT: HOLLYWOOD AMERICAN. DARK JEANS, WHITE T-SHIRT, UNLINED BLACK SILK JACKET, WHITE ATHLETIC SHOES, NO SOCKS. PLAYS WITHOUT SHEET MUSIC. TAKES REQUESTS. THRILLED AND NERVOUS.
Max listened for a moment, then asked, “How did a man of your obvious talents come to play at my family’s winery?”
“I started out in New York City, acting on Broadway, then in the orchestra pit. Lately I’ve worked in the jazz clubs, but staying up all night—that’s a young man’s game.” Dan’s fingers continued to play softly as he spoke to them, as if he didn’t even need to think about the music to know “My Favorite Things.” “I came west on a mission, and I’m happy to have found this position.”
“He applied to work in the serving room, and he’s got the chops to do it, but I’d already filled those positions. When he heard Warren talking about the improvements he wanted to make to brighten the winery, he suggested a pianist and offered to play for us.”
“We didn’t have a piano in the winery,” Max pointed out.
“Mrs. Di Luca offered to let me audition on her piano.” Dan moved effortlessly from “My Favorite Things” to “Strangers in the Night.”
“My mother let you use her piano?” Max was clearly dumbstruck. “This is her piano?”
“Mrs. Di Luca has been incredibly supportive about all we’ve accomplished,” Arthur said. “If you would come this way, Mr. Di Luca, we can look inside the tasting room.”
“First, I’d like to discuss security,” Max said. “With so many new guests and employees, that is a concern.”
“Indeed it is, sir, and I’ve hired Parliman Security to handle everything.” Arthur was the most efficient anticipatory employee Kellen had ever seen. “Would you like to meet Mr. Parliman first?”
“Is that him?” Kellen indicated a man standing at the fringe of the action.
“Yes, how did you know?” Arthur asked.
MR. PARLIMAN:
MALE. EAST INDIAN ANCESTRY. MIDDLE-AGED. DELIBERATELY NONDESCRIPT IN DRESS AND GROOMING. WATCHFUL.
“I’ve met men like him before, in Afghanistan, officers and enlisted men who use their eyes and their minds to stave off disaster.”
“There you have it.” Max put his hand on her hip and let it rest there. “How big is Mr. Parliman’s firm?”
Arthur looked pleased. “We’ll talk to him.”
“I’ll stay here,” Kellen said.
“You don’t want to meet him?” Max asked.
She looked at Parliman again. He had zeroed in on a guest who had overindulged and had sent one of his men to offer free bottles of water and a complimentary plate of cheese and vegetables. “No. I trust Arthur’s judgment, and yours.”
Max laughed. “And your own.”
“In this case,” she agreed.
Max walked off with Arthur.
Kellen relaxed and leaned on the piano. She’d been thinking the same thing, that an assassin would find the winery an easy place to take her out, and Rae and Max and... She didn’t want the winery to be a war zone.
She was happy standing here, under the tent, soaking in the summer heat, listening to the music and looking at Max as he wandered around his winery, viewing and assessing the changes.
He wasn’t sure. These weren’t his ideas. But he was a fair man, and Arthur’s enthusiasm—and the profit—was winning him over. The two men disappeared into the tasting room.
Dan said, “Arthur has spoken highly of Max and of you, and I understand Rae is your daughter.”
“That’s right.”
“She’s quite the inquisitive child. Impetuous. I understand she went with you into the mountains.”
“It was an adventure.” The heat seemed to dissipate and a shiver ran up her spine, the way it used to in Afghanistan when some unseen signal told her the enemy held them in their sights. She looked around.
A lot of people were watching her, especially the new hires, who still gave off the thrilled and nervous vibes. And that was definitely odd.
Dan switched to “Tennessee Waltz.” He still played without sheet music; what a memory he must have. “You look as if your adventure agreed with you.”
She briefly touched the still tender knot on the back of her head. “I don’t think we’ll be doing it again soon. I’d be fine with a little peace and quiet. What kind of acting did you do, Dan?”
“Mostly dramatic. I don’t have the voice for musicals, and I never wanted to be in the orchestra pit.” He smiled. “I like the attention. I like to be the lead.”
She understood. She’d been an officer. “The responsibility can be a burden, but there are undeniable privileges.”
Max was wandering through the crowd, observing the new operation. He met her gaze.
She raised her eyebrows in question. “Excuse me.”
Kellen and Max walked toward each other, and when they met under the shade of an oak, she quietly asked, “So what do we think of these changes?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is this what you asked Arthur to do when you hired him?”
“Not exactly. But it seems churlish to complain when in a week the operation has grown by leaps and bounds through innovation and good hiring practices. Doesn’t it?”
“Right... We wouldn’t be suspicious of any wrongdoing if we hadn’t just been chased all over the mountains.”
“And shot at.”
They were muttering at each other, looking around, arms crossed, backs to the tree.
“I’m not getting an assassin vibe from any of the new hires,” Kellen said.
“No, but—”
An old van stopped at the end of the driveway.
The door opened, and a small, bright, brilliantly pink figure hauling a dirty pink backpack darted up the driveway yelling, “Daddy! Mommy! Daddy! Mommy!”