Antonio punched several keys on the number pad before pressing his index finger on the glass. The lock made a clicking sound as it unlocked. Antonio turned the handle and opened the door.
“I have to enter the security code first. Then the biometric scanner reads my fingerprint. It’s supposed to flash green, but the light burned out,” he said. He stepped into the large cellar and motioned for us to follow.
Aunt Pearl paused at the door to study the locking mechanism. “It’s broken already?”
“I’ve got the technician coming on Monday to replace the bulb. The door still works fine, it’s just the light. Isn’t it cool? It will only unlock with both the security code and my fingerprint. It’s theft proof.”
“You don’t need that kind of security in Westwick Corners,” I said.
“I’m not so sure about that, Cen. Lately things have been going missing. Little things, like a bottle of wine here and there, and every once in a while, a few tools. I just feel better having the wine locked up. This lock is impossible to hack.”
Aunt Pearl arched her brows. “Oh really? I bet I could crack it. Give me the instruction manual, and I’ll decode this thing like nobody’s business. I’m pretty tech-savvy, Antonio. I can probably even fix the light in a jiffy. If I wasn’t retired already, I’d be a hacker for hire. Companies would pay me the big bucks to identify all their system vulnerabilities.”
Antonio laughed. “Sorry, Pearl. I seemed to have misplaced the instructions. I’m hoping the installer will leave me another copy when he comes.”
“Focus, Aunt Pearl,” I whispered. “We don’t have time for distractions. Or witchcraft.”
Aunt Pearl scowled. “I’ll spend my time however I like. Oh, and one more thing…I don’t take orders from junior witches!”
Thankfully Antonio was out of earshot a few feet away. He knelt beside a case of wine, squinting at the fine print on the box.
The air in the wine cellar was cool, damp, and musty. It was modeled after the underground wine cellars in France, complete with arched stone walls and a cave-like atmosphere. It had an Old World feel but was only a few years old. The underground cellar had been excavated and built at the same time as the winery building. Both would have cost a great deal to build, at least several years’ worth of winery profits. That was probably when the Lombard Wines’ financial problems started. The Lombard family business simply wasn’t on a scale large enough to justify such a grand building. Floor to ceiling racks extended fifty feet in each direction, built to hold oak barrels where the wine was aged. Last year they had been full. Now they were mostly empty.
“Pretty slick.” Aunt Pearl scanned the cellar’s empty racks. “Except there’s nothing in here worth locking up.”
“Not even the empty bottles we need to bottle the wine.” My heart sank as I scanned the room. “Where are those, Antonio?”
He shrugged. “Like I said, things are always going missing around here.”
I pulled out my phone to call Mom but reception was poor inside the wine cellar. I headed back upstairs and called her, filling her in on the details.
Mom said, “Whatever Antonio needs he can have. I’ve got cases and cases of extra bottles. I wouldn’t even have a vineyard if it wasn’t for Antonio’s help in getting us started a few years ago. You tell him he can have anything he needs.”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll be right over.”
“No!”
I was confused. “What? Why can’t I drop by—”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “It’s not a good time right now, Cen. I-I’ll explain later but don’t come home right now. Send Pearl over.”
“Okay, but—”
But Mom had already disconnected. She was acting very strange and I had no idea why.
Was I imagining things, or was the whole town going crazy?
Chapter 3
Antonio had always been the first to bottle his wine each season. He was detail-oriented to the point of obsessive-compulsiveness, and his winery was always spotless. But that was in normal times. Everything was different now.
Westwick Corners was home to only a few hundred people, so you couldn’t help but notice a neighbor in trouble. We helped one another, for reasons that were both selfless and selfish. Selfless because in a small town, neighbors relied upon each other. Selfish because if one cog broke, then the whole wheel did. Without successful businesses, our town would quickly cease to exist. Our neighbors’ problems eventually became ours and vice versa.
I headed back downstairs to the wine cellar, but my buoyed spirits were soon dashed at the sight of an unsteady Antonio.
“I don’t feel so good.” Antonio placed his hand on a barrel and steadied himself. “I feel dizzy. Maybe I’ve been working too hard.”
Aunt Pearl scoffed. “You haven’t been working at all, at least as far as I can see.”
I glared at her before turning back to Antonio.
“I think it’s the ventilation,” I said. “The air is a bit heavy down here. Let’s go back upstairs.” I motioned for Aunt Pearl to go ahead of me. I followed behind her and paused halfway up the staircase as I waited for Antonio to shut and relock the cellar door. The door made a buzzing noise as it automatically locked. Antonio double-checked the handle and trailed behind us.
As I climbed the stairs, I thought that his security precautions seemed a little over the top. After all, we were only going upstairs. We weren’t leaving the building.
Once upstairs, I guided Antonio to a stool at the winetasting bar and motioned for him to sit down. “We can do this. Mom said you can borrow some of her bottles.”
Antonio shrugged. “Okay, worth a shot I guess.”
Aunt Pearl cleared her throat. She stood beside the wine vat that Antonio had abandoned minutes earlier and held a wineglass up to the light. “Ahem—you can’t bottle this drivel. What’s this crap floating in it? It looks like sewer water.”
Aunt
