mess?”
Vail looked at her. “Guess we’re even.”
They popped open their doors and strode up the walk. “I’m starving,” Vail said. She pulled her BlackBerry and texted Robby about meeting for a late—very late—dinner.
Dixon rang the bell. Within seconds, the large walnut door swung open.
“Good timing. Just got in a couple minutes ago.” He extended a hand. “Ian Wirth. Come on in.”
Wirth was a shade over six feet with small clear-rimmed glasses and a full head of close-cropped light brown hair. He turned and led the way along the dark wood floor into a paneled library. There was an ornate mahogany desk at the far end of the rectangular room and a smaller matching meeting table nearest the door. He motioned them to pristine glove leather seats. A pitcher of water and a pot of hot coffee sat in the middle of the counter behind them.
“Java?” Wirth asked.
“Sure,” Dixon said. She eyed the freshly brewed coffee and said, “I thought you just got home.”
“I called my housekeeper and had her take care of it before she left.”
While Wirth poured the cups, Vail noticed a large, framed sepia photo hanging behind the desk. “Grandfather?” Vail asked.
Wirth swung his head around, then turned back, a smile broadening his face. “Great grandfather. Jozef Wirth. That photo was taken in Bialystok, Poland, sometime around 1725. My grandmother told me that the genealogist who worked on our family history discovered that there were seven families that migrated in a group from Poland in the 1800s. There were others who decided to stay, and they were eventually swept up in the Nazi roundup in 1938. I’ve got a whole book if you want—”
Vail held up a hand. “Not that I don’t find it interesting, Mr. Wirth, but—”
“Please, call me Ian.”
“Ian,” Vail said. “We’ve had a long day”—
Wirth dipped his chin. “Of course.” He removed a creamer from the counter and placed it on the table. “You said you had questions about the Georges Valley board.”
Dixon dumped some milk into her mug and stirred it. “We spoke earlier with Crystal and she told us about Superior Mobile Bottling. The vote that turned a little contentious.”
Wirth bobbed his head. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“How would you put it?” Vail asked.
Wirth lifted his coffee, warmed his hands on its sides. “We’ve had some issues lately on the board. I’m really not supposed to talk about this—”
“The confidentiality agreement,” Vail said. “Crystal told us about it. It’s okay. We’re not taking notes. We’re not going to share any trade secrets. We just want some background for our investigation.”
“And what investigation is that?”
Dixon blew on her coffee. “Can’t say. But it’s got nothing to do with wrongdoing on the part of the board or its members. In fact, I doubt it has anything to do with the AVA at all. But we need some background. As Crystal put it, we’re fishing.”
“Just curious,” Wirth said. “What’d you think of her?”
Vail hiked her brows. “Crystal? Nice lady. Very interesting.”
“She’s my ex-wife. Did she tell you that?”
Vail didn’t know what to say.
“No,” Dixon said, “she didn’t mention it.”
Wirth sat there a moment, lost in thought. Then he shook his head. “Sorry.” Smiled, then nodded at the seat Dixon was occupying. “That was her favorite chair.”
“Right,” Dixon said.
“Don’t worry, it won’t color my answers. What do you need to know?”
“The acrimony on the board.”
“Ah, yes. Well, Crystal probably told you all about the controversy Victoria was stirring.”
“Controversy?” Vail asked. She felt a buzz on her belt. She stole a look at the display. Robby had texted her back:
call me when ur done. i’ll pick a place and text u the address.
“Victoria was the most vocal opponent of using Superior. She was also an aggressive power broker. She was due to take over the presidency, as part of our board’s three-year rotation. She was leading a group of three board members who wanted concessions from the other members of the AVA and they were using this Superior contract as leverage.”
Dixon took a sip of her coffee. “Leverage for what?”
“She and her cohorts would agree to renew Superior’s contract—if the board supported their efforts to convince the government to modify the proposed AVA law that sets forth the minimum grape requirement for our AVA standard.”
Vail held up a hand. “Kevin Cameron told us something about this. The minimum requirement refers to that 85 percent rule?”
“Yes. The Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau requires that a minimum of 85 percent of the grapes used in wines that are listed as coming from our AVA have to be from the Georges Valley district.”
“Your minimum is 85 percent,” Vail said, “but Napa’s is 75 percent?”
“Correct.”
“And the purpose is to protect consumers?”
“Well, yes—but it also supposedly protects the Georges Valley brand, because people who buy a Georges Valley wine expect a certain quality that comes from the area’s soil, microclimate, and weather patterns.
“But,” Wirth continued, “there are three higher volume vintners in our group—including me and Victoria Cameron—who want to be excluded from that minimum requirement because our brands existed well before the law was passed. But if they enforce the minimum, our brand, Georges Valley Estate Wines, Victoria’s brand, F&M Georges Valley Family Winery, and one other, Georges Valley Reserve Select, would disappear overnight. Our business models are based on importing quality, but less expensive, grapes from the central valley.”
“But there are no Georges Valley grapes in your wine,” Vail said.
“That’s correct. We couldn’t charge what we charge for our wine and use predominantly Georges Valley grapes.”
Vail set down her mug. “Isn’t that misleading?”
“That’s their argument. Our position is that our brands have been around for twenty years, well before this minimum grape law was proposed. It’s unfair to penalize us—put us out of business by losing our brands—because of an administrative issue that some people have pushed through politically.”
Dixon blew on her coffee. “Why would the government allow that kind of exclusion?”
Wirth shook his head, then held up a hand. “Exclusion isn’t exactly the right term. We want our brands
“So,” Vail said, “Victoria was trying to broker a deal in which she and her allies would ratify the Superior Bottling contract, and in turn, the AVA board would endorse the grandfather clause. And what’s in it for the other members who don’t have a stake in this grandfather clause?”
Wirth spread his hands. “They want Superior to get the contract. We’ve been using them for almost three years and they’ve done a good job. They turn out a quality product, they’ve got the best pricing on the market, and they’re a one-stop shop.”
As Vail reached for her coffee, her stomach rumbled. “Sorry.” She threw a hand against her belly. “We haven’t eaten.”
“And we’ve taken enough of your time,” Dixon said. She pulled a card from her pocket and placed it on the table. “If you think of anything else about what we discussed, give me a call.”