Amy laughed appreciatively. "I don't think you have to worry about that. We're just regular working stiffs."
"Are you involved in the wine world? Your husband seems quite knowledgeable."
"Jason? Actually, we're not married until September. And it's not just wine, he's knowledgeable about everything. It's kind of a curse."
"I know what you mean. My Ward's a little like that, too. He sees something once, or hears about it, or reads it in a book, it's locked in his mind forever."
"That sounds like Jason, too. But we're not really involved at all in the wine business, except that we like to drink it." Wu shifted her footing, moving them both back, cutting them away from the two men. "In real life," she said, "we're both attorneys."
Carol Manion's mouth barely twitched, and so quickly that Wu would have missed it if she hadn't been watching closely. In an instant, the practiced smile had returned, but in that second or less, the older woman also seemed to lose half a step somehow, and a silence held between them, until Carol finally stammered, "I'm sorry?"
Amy saw no harm in hitting her with it again. "I said we were both attorneys." Chattering on. "We're both so lucky that we work in San Francisco. Jason's with the District Attorney, and I'm about five years now with a really good firm. I love the work, although people say such terrible things about us sometimes. All the lawyer jokes, you know. But I find that my colleagues are generally way much nicer than most people think. In fact," as though she just remembered it, "it's so funny that Jason and I should have run into you of all people here, because I think we have a mutual friend." Wu's face fell, and it wasn't an act. "Or had, I should say, until this week. Andrea Parisi?"
The surface of Carol Manion's glass of wine shimmered as though a tiny temblor was shaking the ground under their feet. "Andrea…yes, the television-anchor person?"
"And one of your own lawyers, wasn't she? If I'm not mistaken. Am I?"
"No, no. Although we never actually met. I just…well, it's such a tragedy, what's happened. I mean, they still haven't found her yet, have they?"
"No. But I don't think anybody's holding out much hope on that account anymore. It's the worst thing. She was such a great person. We were really good friends." Amy was somewhat surprised to feel real tears begin to form in her eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry. I don't want to put a pall on a nice day like this. But you and she…I really was under the impression that you knew her well, too. If she was going out to your house…"
"No! She never did that."
"Well, that's right. I knew that. I talked to her just after you called her from the Saint Francis and suggested you meet at her office. She was worried it might mean that you were getting cold feet."
"About what?"
"Her representing you."
"But she wasn't representing me. She was…" Abruptly, she stopped as another thought struck her. "Did you say she called you?"
"Uh-huh. Just after she talked to you. She and I were supposed to have dinner together out in the Avenues that night, and we decided to move it to downtown since that's where we'd both be working. God, was that just last Wednesday? It seems like forever ago." As though she'd just realized it, Wu said, "But if you've never met her, that means she must have missed her meeting with you, too."
Carol Manion's eyes took on a furtive cast. In a quick pass, they scanned the length and breadth of the tented area, then came back to Wu. "Yes. I mean, no, I never did meet with her. I," she paused, stuttered, "I had to cancel at the last minute."
"That's a shame," Wu said. "I'm sure you would have liked her. I can't believe she's gone. She was just terrific…a terrific person."
"Yes, well…" Unsteadily, Carol Manion moved a few steps forward, toward her husband. "I'm sure I would have. Now if you'll excuse me, I think it's getting to be time for us to start looking at these lots. It was very nice talking with you. Ward."
Brandt and Wu went and made themselves invisible behind the flap of the tent and watched them as they walked off, Carol leaning heavily onto her husband's arm.
"Nice guy," Brandt said. "Ward."
"She's not. She's a killer."
"You think so?"
"I'd bet my life on it, Jason. I thought she was going to pass out when I mentioned Andrea. She didn't deny the call from the Saint Francis, which is huge. I honestly thought she was going to be sick. I know it shook her up."
"That was the goal."
"No, the goal was to get her upset enough to leave early."
"But not too early. Devin's got to have time to get up here."
Wu checked her watch. "He's had two hours already. He'll make it."
"He'd better," Brandt said. "Check it out."
The Manions had stopped in their progress toward their place at the bidding tables, and now Carol had one palm against her husband's chest and the other pressed against her own left breast. Her posture implored. Wearing an unmistakable expression of frustration and anger, Ward looked at the ceiling of the tent for a moment. He took his wife's wineglass and with an exaggerated calm placed it, along with his own, on the nearest table. Then the two of them began walking toward their nearest exit.
"It's happening," Brandt said.
Wu nodded with a grim satisfaction. "Looks like."
33
Tamara and Craig held their wineglasses up above eye level, intently peering into the half inch of red liquid. "What are we looking for?" Craig whispered.
"I don't know for sure," Tamara said. "Redness?"
"I see it."
There were three pourers-two men and a woman-at the Manion Cellars tasting room. All of them were young, knowledgeable, enthusiastic. The person who'd poured their wine was a twenty-something would-be matinee idol named Warren, and he waited expectantly for reactions among the dozen people at the bar in front of him before he continued with his spiel.
"First I'm sure you'll all notice the amazing clarity, a deep ruby with a just a hint of amber, or even brick, at the edges. That's natural with an older vintage such as this one, especially with the sangiovese. You'll see this a lot with old chiantis, which I'm sure you all know is the same grape. As you swirl, I think you'll pick up the highlights of the deeper ruby red that tends to characterize this varietal in its youth. And then, as the wine settles back into the bottom of the bowl, check out the incredibly beautiful legs…"
Craig backed a step away from the bar, stole a glance downward. "He's right about your legs," he whispered to Tamara, "but how can he see them from where he is?"
She elbowed him in the ribs, took a small sip, spit it out into the bucket provided, and put her glass down. Warren was rattling on about volatility and alcohol and structure and what to look for, what sensory information to register, when the wine passed the lips and the actual tasting began.
Tamara leaned over to Craig, spoke in her own stage whisper. "No offense, but give me a margarita any day."
"I hear you." Craig didn't even bother to taste this particular wine. He'd already tried sips from three or four other bottles, and the education hadn't had much impact on his initial reaction. He and Tamara didn't much care for the stuff. Either that or they just didn't get it. Who cared if the color was ruby or if it was more garnet? What difference did it make? Was color a flavor component? It all tasted pretty much the same to him, in spite of all this talk about forward fruit with a firm backbone of tannins, of cassis (whatever that was), and currant, perhaps with chocolate and tobacco and saddle-leather notes.
Tobacco? Saddle leather? As opposed to baseball-glove leather? Did Warren think people wanted to taste horse and cigar in what they drank?
Not Craig. Not Tamara. If they were drinking, pour something cold with a kick. If Craig wanted a citrus overtone, he'd suck a lime, thanks.