The Antonio I knew would have jumped from his stool and had a major freak out over this travesty. Instead he swiveled slightly on his stool and pointed. He said in a flat voice, “No, not that one. It’s not ready yet. The vat beside it. The meritage.”
“Meritage? Are you sure?” While I personally liked the Lombard meritage, it wasn’t exactly a popular blend with festival goers. Most people preferred the more full-bodied reds. Antonio’s choice amounted to self-sabotage. Hardly anyone would buy his meritage and he knew it. “Your syrah is the best, and your cabernet sauvignon is always a hit. Why not go with one of those?”
Antonio frowned. “I vaguely remember bottling some cab. I wonder where I put it?”
“What kind of crap operation is this? Don’t you keep records of anything?” Aunt Pearl grumbled. “Can’t remember…sheesh!”
“I’m sure I can find it.” I scanned the large warehouse and paused at the floor to ceiling racks that housed the Lombard wine barrels. Normally the racks were tightly packed with oak barrels perfectly aligned, full of wine. Each barrel would be neatly labeled with the wine variety and the Lombard Wines logo. Normally Antonio kept a section for each wine: merlot, meritage, cabernet sauvignon, pinot noir, and syrah, with the oldest vintage years stacked on the bottom shelves for easy access.
Now the racks had gaping holes with barrels resting haphazardly on only the bottom two shelves. The top three shelves were completely empty. Apparently, no winemaking of any kind had been going on for quite a while. I walked closer to read the labels and gasped: pinot noir, syrah, meritage…they weren’t even in alphabetical order!
But the barreled wine wasn’t my immediate concern since it was still aging and not quite ready for bottling. I vowed to find a bottling-worthy wine myself.
I stole a glance at Antonio as I walked over to the bar, stepped behind the counter, and grabbed a wineglass He stared into space and didn’t acknowledge me. I crossed the floor to the other side of the winery, passed the basement wine cellar entrance with my wineglass, and headed to the large aluminum tanks that held the wine ready for bottling. If I had to taste test every tank of wine to find something decent, then that’s what I would do. There was no other way.
I stopped at the first vat and held the glass under the tap. It was a cabernet sauvignon. I turned on the tap and waited for the wine to come out.
Nothing.
Not even a drop to indicate recent use. The vat was totally dry.
I tried the next vat. No wine there either. I had the same results for the entire row of vats. There was no cabernet sauvignon, cabernet franc, or cab anything. A sense of dread grew in my gut even though I had nothing personally at stake. I appreciated how hard Antonio had worked to make the winery a success over the years. Yet no winemaking had occurred here for a very long time. I felt a pang of guilt.
How had I not noticed this sooner?
Such a grand-looking winery but no actual wine!
I was ready to give up when I pressed the tap on the very last vat. To my surprise, red wine spurted out and almost overflowed my glass before I quickly turned off the tap. I took a generous sip and tasted a smooth full-bodied red. I wasn’t an expert, but I was pretty sure it was a syrah, and a very nice one at that. All we needed was enough to bottle for the wine festival and judging from the full tank. There almost certainly was enough.
I took a deep breath and composed myself as I walked back to the bar. Antonio’s future was riding on this. My hand shook as I handed the glass to Antonio. “I think it’s a syrah. What do you think?”
Antonio held the glass up to the light and studied it for a moment before placing it to his lips and taking a long sip. He swallowed and let out a satisfied sigh. “Ahh…the 2016 syrah. That will do nicely.”
“Great. Aunt Pearl, go home and get Mom’s bottles.” I tossed her my car keys, relieved that Antonio seemed to have come to his senses somewhat.
“Yes, boss.” Aunt Pearl scowled and mock-saluted me, but she headed outside.
I needed a few minutes alone with Antonio to figure out what was wrong. I could only do that without Aunt Pearl’s interference.
I waited until tires crunched on gravel as Aunt Pearl drove out of the parking lot. I turned to Antonio.
“Where is Jose?” Antonio’s younger brother was often away on business trips and never around when there was work to be done. Supposedly he handled sales, marketing, and any other task that didn’t involve grapes or wine. I suspected he chose activities that would keep him away from the winery and his perfectionist brother.
Since sales were meager lately and very little new business ever resulted from his frequent business trips, I also suspected that the rumors about his playboy lifestyle were true.
Antonio shrugged. “Jose’s supposed to be delivering a truckload of wine orders to our customers. He’s not very reliable, but it’s all I can trust him with. He ruins everything he touches.”
“I thought he did sales,” I said.
Antonio laughed. “He’s a lousy salesman, though he doesn’t invest much time in it. He doesn’t want anything to do with the business and expects me to do all the work. He’s the worst partner. I wish I could buy him out.”
“You should.” The brothers were polar opposites. Jose was entitled and lazy. Antonio was modest and industrious. He was usually happy too. He wasn’t any of
