A Memory Away. Melinda Curtis

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СКАЧАТЬ think she’s lying.” It wasn’t a question.

      “You know how when you meet someone you give them the benefit of the doubt? How you trust what they tell you is the truth?”

      “Yes.”

      “You could never trust a word that came out of my brother’s mouth.” Duffy barely recognized his own voice. It was as thick with emotion as the day he’d learned of Greg’s death. “If she and Greg...”

      “Don’t judge her so quickly,” Christine said. “If only for the baby’s sake.”

      Duffy nodded, but the desire to convict outweighed the compulsion to trust.

      Thankfully, Christine’s work ethic intruded. “You mentioned on the phone that you wanted to show me something.”

      He had. “Let’s take a drive.” He needed a distraction and he needed to show Christine the extent of the threat on the hill.

      The winery had recently purchased several small vineyards around town, ones that had been lying idle and untended for years. One of their properties was on the slopes of Parish Hill and might have a problem. As the winery’s newly hired and first-ever vineyard manager, it was Duffy’s responsibility to restore the vineyards to optimal production.

      A few minutes later, Duffy drove them down Main Street. There was little traffic. With a population just reaching one hundred, and barely twenty of those residents below the age of sixty-five, there weren’t many cars around.

      Nearly two decades ago, the largest employer in town had burned to the ground. Younger Harmony Valley residents had moved closer to civilization, leaving the town on the brink of extinction. And then three local boys made it big in the dot-com world, returned home to decompress and decided to save the town by starting a winery. The jury was still out on the saving part, but those employed at the winery were optimistic.

      “It’s sad about Jessica, isn’t it?” Christine waved to the elderly barber, standing on scarecrow-like limbs in front of his shop.

      “I suppose.” Duffy drove slowly around the town square with its ancient oak tree, and took the turn toward Parish Hill and its steep switchbacks.

      “I was trying to imagine how I’d feel if I couldn’t recall a part of my life. It must be frustrating and terrifying not remembering who the baby’s father is.” How quickly Jess had pulled Christine into her camp. A strike against her.

      Duffy navigated a tight turn. “Can we talk about work?” Always? He liked to keep his private life separate from his professional life.

      “You’re one of the few people in town who doesn’t want me to stop talking about the winery.” There was no change in Christine’s voice. No indication that she felt snubbed by his request. “Promise me you’ll never change.”

      “Never.” Of course, she might not like what he was about to tell her.

      Duffy turned onto a dirt road that led to a small vineyard clinging to the hillside. According to their records, the Cabernet Sauvignon vines had originally been planted in the 1990s. Their trunks were thick and twisted. Duffy parked and led Christine down the vine-tangled hill. The vineyard had shriveled, unharvested grape clusters on the ground.

      He stopped at the bottom row of leafless, wintery plants. “Look at this. See how these vines have produced fewer shoots and canes than the next row up?”

      “Yes.” Christine’s gaze moved with a scientist’s deliberation. “What do you think? Soil composition? Water drainage?”

      “It could be those things. But we also have to consider leaf roll virus.” A grapevine disease that delayed maturity and lowered grape yield. Saying it out loud was like telling a child there would be no Christmas this year.

      Christine didn’t like the news. She frowned and shook her head several times before she said anything. And when she did speak, her tone had the serious quality of a winemaker twice her age. “You can’t know that. You’d either have to see it in their leaves come spring or have tested the vines.”

      “True.” But he knew the signs, had seen them on his last job, where the winery owners hadn’t wanted to hear the news, either. “Look at this.” He crouched next to the rotted remains of a withering grape cluster. “There are others like it all along this row.” He moved to a row farther up the hill, carefully making his case. “Now look at this cluster.”

      “Almost twice the size,” she murmured. Then she shook her head again. “Leaf roll has never been documented in Harmony Valley.”

      “I was exactly where you are. Drainage, incline of the hill, even the fact that these vines haven’t been harvested or trimmed back in years.” Duffy tugged on a bare branch. It snapped free, another indication of the poor health of the vines, weakened by years of drought. “I had Ryan pull the data. The last row was planted ten years ago after a fire destroyed part of the vineyard. I couldn’t find any confirmation of it being certified virus-free stock.” He tossed the vine to the ground. “I’d rather err on the side of caution, wouldn’t you?”

      After a moment, Christine nodded. “We should test for red blotch disease, too.”

      “Agreed.” She’d taken the news better than he’d expected.

      They hiked up the hill, the biting wind at their backs.

      “I walked the vineyard last fall when we decided to expand.” Christine paused on a rise to take in the rest of the area, sounding resigned, as if she were to blame. “But I can’t remember going that deep into the rows.”

      “It’s okay. Maybe I’m wrong.” Duffy prayed it was so.

      “If they are diseased,” she said softly, more to herself than to him, “we’ll have to take them out right away. Both leaf roll and red blotch dilute the taste of the grape.” Christine opened the truck door and inspected the bottom of her boots one at a time. “Check for bugs on the bottom of your shoes. Mealy bugs—”

      “Spread the disease,” Duffy finished for her, already examining the crevices in his boot lugs. He added in a neutral tone, “You hired me because I know things like this.”

      “I’m sorry. It’s a shock.” Her apology was as arrow-straight as the worry furrowing her brow.

      “With your approval, we’ll have Ryan take samples and send them to the lab.”

      A beat-up green truck backfired as it trundled down the dirt road behind them.

      “Rutgar,” Christine said. “I...uh...told you about him, right?”

      Sounded like she hadn’t told him enough. “Used to own this property. Likes to know what’s going on.”

      “Everyone in town is a bit of a gossip,” she said apologetically. “It’s not something I divulge during a job interview. You’re in the grace period of being new to town.” Christine hesitated, and then her smile turned as apologetic as her tone. “Or you were. Now that Rutgar’s showed up... Well, let’s just say folks’ curiosity can sometimes be trying. Be patient with them. They mean well. And they grow on you.” She quickly transformed into a confident, friendly winemaker greeting the previous owner. “Rutgar! What a surprise.”

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