How to Dine on Killer Wine: A Party-Planning Mystery by Penny Warner Page B
Authors: Penny Warner
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really? Like what? Search for hidden clues? Interrogate a list of suspects? Put together a sleuth kit with a flashlight, magnifying glass, and notebook?”
“Don’t be silly, Presley. You’ve been reading too many Agatha Christies.”
“Agatha’s more your style, Mom. I prefer Nancy Drew. So what exactly is your big plan to figure out who done it?”
“Bingo!”
Chapter 9
PARTY-PLANNING TIP #9
Consider hosting your wine-tasting party at a local winery. You’ll find everything from casual tastings to educational seminars to formal events. If you’re in Napa, treat yourself to a hot-air balloon ride, a mud bath, a trip on the wine train, or a wildlife safari (yes, in Napa!). Just watch out for those pink elephants…
“Bingo?” I repeated. “You’re kidding, Mother. We found a dead woman at my party and you want to play bingo? I don’t think this is an appropriate time—”
“Oh, Presley,” Mother said. “You wouldn’t believe the way people gossip at that place. Every time Larry left the table to get me a snack, the other women there told me all kinds of stories about some of the more colorful characters in the valley. When I mentioned I was staying at the Purple Grape, tongues started wagging about the Rob-and-JoAnne feud. You want information, play bingo.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“Well, first of all, I’m not one for idle talk…”
I nearly laughed out loud at that prevarication.
“And secondly, gossip is just that—gossip. It’s not fact until proven. You taught me that with your murder investigating.”
“Then why go there now and listen to more gossip?” I asked.
“Because. You know what Barbara Walters says.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
“‘Show me someone who never gossips, and I’ll show you someone who isn’t interested in people.’” She gave a “so there” nod of her head.
I couldn’t argue with that. I checked my watch. Nothing to do here, now that my stuff was packed up and the party area was a crime scene. Plus, that cop had told me not to leave town. Brad most likely wouldn’t be back until evening. What the hell. A little bingo might not be a bad idea. And who knew? Maybe I
would
hear some gossip about the people involved in this murder. One of our topics in my abnormal psychology class was on the evolutionary biology of gossip. I’d asked my students to discuss the social-bonding aspects of gossip, which can actually bring people together. Mother had a point. Gossip offered a wealth of additional information—as long as it wasn’t misinformation.
The problem was how to sift fact from fiction.
After Mother refreshed her makeup, omitting the lipstick from her eyelids, she followed me down the hall to the living area and kitchen, where I did a quick search for Marie. I found no sign of her, nor of Rocco and Gina, who had packed up their cooking supplies and departed. The place felt empty and cold, more likea model home on display than a lived-in residence. Without Rob’s friendly demeanor, Marie’s gentle nature, and even Allison’s smarmy attitude, it was little more than a shell. A very expensive, beautifully decorated shell.
I helped Mother into the MINI Cooper, and we headed for the bingo hall once again. Most of the games were at night, with the exception of Sunday afternoons. Perhaps bingo was an alternative to church for some of the wine-country residents.
As I drove the short distance, I half listened to my mother explain the rules of the game. I hadn’t played since I was a kid, and only once at a friend’s unimaginative birthday party. When I’d told my mother about the party, which included pin the tail on the donkey and musical chairs, she’d sworn she’d never host a boring birthday like that for me.
She’d kept her word. Memories of my birthday parties included themes like Princess for a Day, complete with pink prom gowns and tiaras, Own Your Own Zoo, which offered pony rides, and Mickey’s Clubhouse,
“Don’t be silly, Presley. You’ve been reading too many Agatha Christies.”
“Agatha’s more your style, Mom. I prefer Nancy Drew. So what exactly is your big plan to figure out who done it?”
“Bingo!”
Chapter 9
PARTY-PLANNING TIP #9
Consider hosting your wine-tasting party at a local winery. You’ll find everything from casual tastings to educational seminars to formal events. If you’re in Napa, treat yourself to a hot-air balloon ride, a mud bath, a trip on the wine train, or a wildlife safari (yes, in Napa!). Just watch out for those pink elephants…
“Bingo?” I repeated. “You’re kidding, Mother. We found a dead woman at my party and you want to play bingo? I don’t think this is an appropriate time—”
“Oh, Presley,” Mother said. “You wouldn’t believe the way people gossip at that place. Every time Larry left the table to get me a snack, the other women there told me all kinds of stories about some of the more colorful characters in the valley. When I mentioned I was staying at the Purple Grape, tongues started wagging about the Rob-and-JoAnne feud. You want information, play bingo.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”
“Well, first of all, I’m not one for idle talk…”
I nearly laughed out loud at that prevarication.
“And secondly, gossip is just that—gossip. It’s not fact until proven. You taught me that with your murder investigating.”
“Then why go there now and listen to more gossip?” I asked.
“Because. You know what Barbara Walters says.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
“‘Show me someone who never gossips, and I’ll show you someone who isn’t interested in people.’” She gave a “so there” nod of her head.
I couldn’t argue with that. I checked my watch. Nothing to do here, now that my stuff was packed up and the party area was a crime scene. Plus, that cop had told me not to leave town. Brad most likely wouldn’t be back until evening. What the hell. A little bingo might not be a bad idea. And who knew? Maybe I
would
hear some gossip about the people involved in this murder. One of our topics in my abnormal psychology class was on the evolutionary biology of gossip. I’d asked my students to discuss the social-bonding aspects of gossip, which can actually bring people together. Mother had a point. Gossip offered a wealth of additional information—as long as it wasn’t misinformation.
The problem was how to sift fact from fiction.
After Mother refreshed her makeup, omitting the lipstick from her eyelids, she followed me down the hall to the living area and kitchen, where I did a quick search for Marie. I found no sign of her, nor of Rocco and Gina, who had packed up their cooking supplies and departed. The place felt empty and cold, more likea model home on display than a lived-in residence. Without Rob’s friendly demeanor, Marie’s gentle nature, and even Allison’s smarmy attitude, it was little more than a shell. A very expensive, beautifully decorated shell.
I helped Mother into the MINI Cooper, and we headed for the bingo hall once again. Most of the games were at night, with the exception of Sunday afternoons. Perhaps bingo was an alternative to church for some of the wine-country residents.
As I drove the short distance, I half listened to my mother explain the rules of the game. I hadn’t played since I was a kid, and only once at a friend’s unimaginative birthday party. When I’d told my mother about the party, which included pin the tail on the donkey and musical chairs, she’d sworn she’d never host a boring birthday like that for me.
She’d kept her word. Memories of my birthday parties included themes like Princess for a Day, complete with pink prom gowns and tiaras, Own Your Own Zoo, which offered pony rides, and Mickey’s Clubhouse,
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