“I can’t buy him out, Cen. Our sales are so dismal that I can’t even pay the utility bills. Buying Jose’s share is out of the question. Not that he’d ever let me.”
“I’m sure the wine festival will turn everything around.” I doubted that, but wanted to sound encouraging.
“I doubt it. The last year has been a total disaster. I’ve given up trying.” Antonio picked up empty Lombard Wines wine cases and stacked them against the wall at the rear of the building.
I glanced around the messy winery while I searched for answers.
“I’ve got a few ideas…but first let’s tidy up and get organized for bottling.” I walked over to the bottling table and inspected the equipment. At least the bottling area was tidy. It was also dusty, like it hadn’t been used in months.
Like us, Antonio’s family had lived in Westwick Corners for generations. The brothers inherited Lombard Wines and vineyard after their parents passed away. The winery was renowned for its quality wine, but especially so in recent years as Antonio perfected his winemaking skills. Something had changed recently, and we needed to change it back while we still could.
I found corks beside the bottle corker and searched the built-in storage behind the bottling table for matching labels and foil caps. At least those were neatly organized in alphabetical order. I found the black and silver Lombard Wines Syrah labels and placed them beside the corks.
“Maybe you could find a new partner to buy Jose’s share?” I suggested.
Antonio shook his head. “Who would buy this place? It’s far from our major markets and the weather can be fickle. We can’t compete anymore.”
“It’s only a bad patch, Antonio. You were successful before and you will be again—starting with the wine festival.”
“That was before Desiree moved here and started Verdant Valley Vineyards. She gets the best booth at the wine festival and monopolizes all the buyers. She bad-mouths my wines just to make hers look better. Every year she steals more of our market share. She’s got the judge in her pocket, and she’ll win first prize again like she does every year. Why do I even bother to enter my wine? Just thinking about it makes be mad.”
“Don’t let her get to you. This year will be different,” I lied. Desiree LeBlanc was ruthless and would stop at nothing to be number one. She would certainly win again, but Antonio had bigger things to worry about than winning wine of the year. He stood to lose his business and livelihood unless he made a decent showing and caught the attention—and the pocketbooks—of buyers at the wine festival. The one-day festival frequently accounted for half a winery’s annual sales. Wine buyers came from all over the country. The Westwick Corners Wine Festival was small, but strategically scheduled as the last of several wine shows in Washington state.
Barely five minutes had passed when the door swung open and Aunt Pearl stepped inside. Her outstretched arms were stacked high with two cases of wine bottles. The cardboard boxes completely obscured her face. All I saw behind the cartons was a skinny body in a purple velour tracksuit.
“That was fast.” Antonio’s eyes widened. “You must have flown home and back.”
Aunt Pearl smirked. “Pretty much.”
I glared at her. She hadn’t gone home to get Mom’s bottles. She had conjured up bottles of her own just outside the winery’s driveway, probably in plain view of anyone who happened to look. It was a blatant display of witchcraft—and against WICCA rules.
Breathless from the exertion, Aunt Pearl walked over to the bottling table and deposited the cartons on the floor. She tilted her head toward the door and parking lot outside. “The rest are in the car. I hope it’s enough.”
“Nothing will be enough.” Antonio ran a hand through his disheveled salt-and-pepper hair as we walked outside to the car. “If you ask me, it’s too little, too late to save the winery.”
“No, it’s not. Think positive, Antonio. We’ll get you back on track.” I opened the rear door and stacked three cartons onto Antonio’s outstretched arms. I grabbed two more cartons for myself and followed him into the winery. I turned to him after we finished stacking the cartons by the long bottling table. “Don’t worry, Antonio. We’ll get through it together.”
Together. That reminded me of Tyler and his surprise. The only other time he had acted so mysterious was when he brought me to his hometown to introduce me to his mother shortly after we had started dating. Was he planning another meaningful occasion?
We hadn’t officially talked about marriage, but we were definitely headed that way. Was Tyler going to propose? I imagined our wedding, a small intimate garden ceremony followed by a reception…
A loud noise jolted me from my thoughts.
Aunt Pearl clapped her hands and shouted in my ear.
“Cen—snap out of it! One comatose person is bad enough, but I draw the line at two of you. I’m not getting stuck with all the work.”
“I never said you had to do any work. I never even invited you.”
“Well, you obviously can’t pull this off without my help, and Antonio is a lost cause. You don’t really think Tyler’s going to propose, do you? If he does, I’ll eat my socks.”
“Why would I think that?” My face flushed even as I denied it.
“I know ever-y-thing,” Aunt Pearl taunted me in a sing-song voice. “I hope your garden wedding doesn’t have a corpse this time.”
“What, no!” Could Aunt Pearl read my mind?
Aunt Pearl snorted. “Of course, I can read your mind, Cen. Why do you think I was waiting in your car? You never told anyone you were helping Antonio today. I knew you were in over your head. Once again I’ve come to the rescue.”
Only Grandma Vi could read my mind. That talent had only developed after she became a ghost. I had always assumed it was a ghostly power, not a witchy one. I hoped Aunt Pearl was bluffing.
“Aah…you’ve got
