Grapes of Death Read Free Page B

clear.”
    â€œGood,” she said with a nod and slipped an arm through his. “Then let’s go eat. I’m starving.”
    Elise followed them down the hallway with her uncle’s comments playing over in her mind. What problems could her mother possibly have that one of Edmond’s wild schemes could fix?

Two
    Morning dawned as sticky and humid as a sports club steam room. Dragging herself out of bed, Elise felt like someone had drained her blood and replaced it with some kind of low-energy sludge during the night. She would definitely need about a gallon of diet cola to get her motor running smoothly again.
    She’d slept in fits and starts, unable to get Stuart’s job proposal out of her head. Between that dilemma and her uncle’s cryptic remarks about making trouble for the vineyard—as well as her mother’s lame explanation of why there was nothing to worry about—she’d had a terrible night.
    Fortunately, she didn’t have much time to dwell on either issue this morning. Her mom had called a family meeting for eleven o’clock, and she needed to get moving if she was going to make a run by the greenhouse to check on her hybrid vines beforehand.
    By the time Elise got out of the shower, you could cut the air in the bathroom with a machete—which did nothing to improve her mood. Why this room didn’t have an exhaust fan, she would never know.
    When she’d originally left the security of her family’s home and moved out on her own, she’d thought the apartment above the Delphine Drug Store in town was quaint, with sort of an old-world charm. The owners, Avery and Lila Parker, ran the pharmacy downstairs and were the best landlords ever. They never even complained when she ran a few days late with the rent—which happened more often than she’d like to admit.
    It was a plus that they’d given her free rein with decorating, and she’d taken full advantage of their generosity in that area. While she’d loved the apartment’s original wallpaper, it was too far gone to save. So she’d meticulously removed every scrap and painted each room in a soft pastel color scheme.
    Having a passion for old-fashioned linen and just about anything antique, she had run across some really fabulous lace curtains at one of the shops on Main Street. Between her collection of porcelain pitchers and the Pop Art that adorned the walls, her apartment may be eclectic, even unconventional, but it was bright and fresh and suited her perfectly.
    However, on the minus side, the old radiators took forever to come up in the winter, then blasted you out with heat once they did. And the two window air conditioners worked off and on at best. More off than on, truth be told. With the heat wave they’d been having, this was not a good thing. She found a hammer worked well with the radiators and a few good whacks with a shoe did wonders for the air conditioning units.
    Speaking of shoes, what the hell did that big, fat blob of a cat do with her other sandal?
    â€œ Chunk !” she hollered, then muttered under her breath, “Where are you, you little spawn of Satan?”
    Of course, she’d named him Chunk for a reason—and the word little had nothing to do with it. Her Snowshoe Siamese was eighteen pounds and, for reasons known only to him, had developed a penchant for hiding her shoes. Problem was, he usually only took one of a pair, so she had a plethora of mismatched shoes in her closet at any given time.
    Stomping into the living room, she found his royal highness lounging in the Papasan chair like the king of the world. He looked up and lazily yawned as she approached.
    â€œWhere is my other sandal, mister?” she asked, brandishing the lone shoe she’d found. The cat blinked and began to bathe, obviously unconcerned with her wardrobe issues. “Seriously, Chunk, I don’t have time for your shenanigans today. I’m