“I can see that. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you just came in from the fields.” Her pale blue eyes coolly assessed my baggy t-shirt, jeans, and worn boots like I was livestock at a 4H show. That was typical Desiree, putting me in my place before she took home the trophy. She really got under my skin sometimes. I was tempted to cast an ugly spell but stopped myself. I wouldn’t stoop to her level.
I turned to walk past her, but she blocked my passage.
“Those sure are…interesting boots, Cendrine. I hear vintage is the new thing. Oh, and another thing…rumor has it that Ruby’s Witching Hour Red Merlot is a contender to win most improved wine this year,” she said. “I just don’t know if she can make it happen with that hideous label. It would be a real shame if it came down to that, now wouldn’t it?”
I gulped and felt my face flush. I had designed the label myself and was quite proud of my artistry. “It’s the wine inside the bottle that counts.”
“Uh…no, Cendrine. Presentation is everything. Unless you make a good first impression with good branding, you might as well give up right now. That ugly label ain’t gonna cut it. Just a little friendly advice from someone who knows.” She smiled, her perfect veneers a transparent blue-white under the bright overhead lights.
I wanted to punch her. Instead I said, “I’ll mention it, thanks.”
Desiree turned to leave but backtracked. “One more thing, Cen…since Ruby is your Mom and all, I hope your reporting will be impartial.”
“Of course.” Desiree’s repeat win for the top prize, Wine of the Year, was pretty much a given. It had been for every one of the last five years during which she had been having an affair with Richard. Yet she had the audacity to imply that my reporting wouldn’t be impartial? It hardly mattered. The Westwick Corners Weekly wasn’t exactly The Wine Spectator. That didn’t seem to matter to Desiree though. Everything, no matter how small, had to be tilted in her favor.
I took a deep breath. “Speaking of impartial, have you seen Judge Richard?” I added judge to his name, my passive-aggressive way of getting a dig in about the biased judging.
“Hmmm…I saw Richard a minute ago. He was unloading his car. I’m sure he’s around somewhere.”
If Richard was in the middle of unloading his car, then there was no need to tell him that the rain outside was worsening. He would see soon enough and put the Corvette’s convertible top back up. I had no desire to talk to him after what had happened yesterday.
Whatever I had said to Desiree about Mom seemed to satisfy her because she finally let me continue over to the Lombard Wines booth. Trina had done a nice job of arranging the table for wine sampling. She had covered it with a pretty white linen tablecloth with a cutwork border. It was a nice touch that wouldn’t last ten minutes before it became wine-stained. Plastic wine goblets were artfully arranged into a large pyramid, like a champagne fountain. Behind the glasses stood two lonely bottles of Lombard Wines Syrah.
Everything was perfect except for the shortage of wine. Antonio better hurry back.
“Looks good, Trina,” I said.
Trina smiled. “Isn’t Miss Perfect a piece of work? It’s a blessing in disguise that Antonio had to run back to the winery, otherwise World War III would have broken out. Desiree constantly flaunts her success in Antonio’s face while the poor guy’s about to lose his livelihood.”
“Not if I can help it.” I didn’t have a clue how I would help but wanted to sound confident. Surely, we could figure something out.
“What can we do, Cen? Even if we get tons of new orders from wine buyers today, it won’t bring in enough money in time to stop the bank from foreclosing. I’ll do anything to help Antonio. If I had enough money, I’d make the overdue mortgage payments myself. But I don’t.” She lowered her voice. “In fact, I’m almost broke too. I haven’t been paid in a month.”
“Wow…sorry to hear that.” The Lombard Wines finances were even worse than I thought. If there ever was a case for magical intervention, this was it. The rules against spellcasting for profit were pretty strict, but what if it meant saving someone from being homeless? Surely exceptions could be made.
No.
There had to be a way other than breaking WICCA rules. I couldn’t use my witchcraft for financial gain, even if it was for another person’s benefit. Otherwise, I was as bad as Aunt Pearl.
“I’ve been living off my savings,” Trina said. “Desiree offered me a job but I won’t take it. I couldn’t do that to Antonio.”
“He’s very lucky to have you,” I said. “Try to keep him away from Richard if you can. We don’t want a repeat of yesterday.”
Trina nodded. “So far, so good, though Desiree already got in a few jabs. She told Antonio that he could come work for her too. He just about blew up.”
Mom’s booth was next door, and she had overheard our conversation. “You need to earn a living, Trina,” Mom said. “I’m sure Antonio would understand you needing to find another job. If I could, I’d hire you myself.”
“Maybe you can,” I said. “Desiree told me that you were probably going to win ‘Most Improved Wine’ this year.”
“Really? That would be wonderful.” Mom beamed. “How does she know all this?”
“She doesn’t,” Trina said. “It’s Desiree’s veiled insult. What she’s actually implying is that your wine was terrible last year.”
“Oh, well.” Mom didn’t seem all that concerned. “Maybe it was. I’ve learned so much from Antonio over the last year. My new Witching Hour Red Merlot is a vast improvement over last year’s vintage.”
I wanted to warn Mom that Aunt Pearl had possibly put an enhancement spell on her wine, but I couldn’t
