Wine, Weddings and Death

CHAPTER 1

Much to Oleta’s relief, the double wedding rumors were laid to rest. After all, the gossip mongers had argued, Oleta introduced Wade to Faith so she could be married, herself, without her ex-husband playing his mischievous pranks to discourage it. Since Wade and Faith hit it off so well that he proposed to her, why not have a double wedding? Faith was all for it but, thank God, her family intervened and wanted her married on the Cardwell farm with all the relatives and every friend and acquaintance of both Wade’s and theirs from their cooperatives invited. Oleta could continue with her plans for a Las Vegas wedding during Christmas week attended only by her immediate family and Birdie and Oliver. Cantrell had no family to invite but his partner in the Bakersfield homicide division, who would serve as best man.

Faith’s wedding was timed after harvesting of the grapes, after they were rendered to must and in their oaken barrels and fermented to perfection. No metal tanks were used for Jim Caldwell’s precious cabernets. He didn’t admit this, but he was also celebrating the best vintage he had yet produced as well as his joy to take in Wade as a son-in-law, an all-around good chap and fellow farmer he had known for years. Faith, a widow, had been married to a man who had worked for the railroad. There was little Jim and he had in common except discussing rising transportation prices, over which neither of them had any control.

The Cardwell ranch style home sprawled across a shelf in the foothills of the Sierras where he could look down upon 14,000 acres of his crops. 7,000 acres were devoted to growing lettuce and carrots, the rest to the cabernet. Another 5,000 acres, devoted to growing table grapes, lay a short distance to the northwest. The table grapes were sent to the cooperative where they were bought and distributed to dealers unknown to him. But his cabernets were watched over from harvest to casking to bottling. Life was now good. The ranch style home, which had replaced a two story clapboard farm house thirty years before, was all gussied up for a huge party. Jim had every vision of prosperity and was happy. He had no foreknowledge of the horror to come.

October was an ideal month in the San Joaquin Valley for an outdoor party, down to the more comfortable seventies rather than over a hundred degrees suffered in July and August. It was a perfect Saturday for a wedding. Rented tables holding eight each had been laid out in the back yard under streamers of canvas awning with Roberta Caldwell’s prize roses as centerpieces. A much flower bedecked head table, actually rectangular tables laid out together, were reserved for the bride and groom, Faith’s parents, her two brothers and their wives and Wade and Cousin Billy. As there was an overflow, Faith’s two daughters, their husbands, children and husband’s parents, occupied tables close by. The terrace contained serving tables and the built in brick barbecue would be in service all afternoon, as well as a bar laden with bottles, glasses and pails serving as ice buckets. Jim had smoked turkeys and Roberta and his son’s wives had baked a ham, made gallons of baked beans, cole slaw, potato salad, pickled okra, and corn on the cob. They did everything themselves; no help was needed except for hiring a few of the hands’ wives for kitchen and serving duties.

Oleta was picked up early, after her beauty parlor appointment and a quick bite of lunch, as Faith had asked for her moral support and help in dressing although she needed neither. One of her father’s crew picked her up so she could be driven home by Cantrell, who would come later with Birdie, Oleta’s chief cohort in crime. Faith was enamored of Oleta actually not for her sense of fashion which was strong but for her detection fame and considered herself now one of the Bakersfield Irregulars, fellow snoops who operated under her direction.

Faith’s old bedroom reflected not only her childhood but the childhood of her own two girls who visited their grandparents frequently until they, themselves, were married and had children. Now it was reserved for the female great grandchildren of Faith and her brothers, John and Jay. Dolls and teddy bears stood neatly on shelves, the bedspread was homemade in love, white with embroidered pink flowers, with matching window curtains. Faith’s brother Jay’s male grand stayed over in his father’s old bedroom.

Also present was Liza, Faith’s matron of honor, a lifelong best friend from a neighboring farm with a sharp little face and a whimsical sense of humor. Josie, a tall, angular woman and the wine boss’ wife, helping Roberta, fluttered in and out, monitoring their intake of wine and urging them to quit dawdling about and dress, as did Roberta. Josie was a volunteer, unpaid for this job, but she felt herself a wise older sister to Faith, even though they were less than two years apart.

Oleta didn’t particularly like wine, preferring a modest amount of whiskey drowned in Pepsi, but the cabernet sneaked to them by Jim was like velvet, irresistible to the tongue. They were halfway through the bottle, virtually ignoring that the band had arrived to set up and guests could be heard gathering in the fenced half acre in back of the house.

Oleta was giving practical advice to Faith in handling her future husband.

He can get grumpy, but he’s cute when he’s grumpy so just say ‘yes, dear’, to anything he says.

Even if he’s wrong?

Especially if he’s wrong, Liza responded.

The women giggled like young girls instead of sophisticates in their forties, lounging on the bed in various states of partial dress.

And don’t forget to serve him ham hocks and lima beans with corn bread at least once a week and avoid broccoli. That’s the formula for marital success.

We’d better get our dresses on, Liza said. It’s almost two thirty. She got up and fetched her dress from its hanger.

Oleta and Faith reluctantly began to obey, Faith and Liza getting into silk and lace dresses with matching silk pumps, Faith’s dress ecru and her matron of honor’s a pale shade of lime green, while Oleta donned a party dress of pale green silk.

You’ll like the preacher, ‘Leta, Faith said. Baptist but modern in thought. He and his wife are also involved with the migrant workers even though they are all Catholic or Evangelical.

Although there were settlers before them, including the eponymous Arvin family, Arvin was formally founded as a camp town for migrant workers during the Depression. Situated fifteen miles southeast of Bakersfield, it was nestled near the foothills of the Sierras with an elevation of about 450 feet. It now had a permanent population hovering around 20,000. Except for the noxious level of smog that was trapped by the rising of the mountains, it was a pleasant little town nestled, as it was, by those same mountains that contained the smog, populated now by those of Mexican descent as well as gringos. The farmers didn’t live there but the farms sprawled for miles around the town.

Are you nervous? Liza asked.

No, I just feel happy, Faith replied. Is that o.k., Oleta?

I handpicked you, girl! Remember?

Now that you have your P.I. license, am I still an operative?

Yes, both you and Wade and Cousin Billy. Don’t worry about it. I just got the license and there’s not a case in sight, anyway.

Are you going to advertise? Liza asked.

Oh, no. That’s just to legitimize my standing so Cantrell’s homicide chiefs won’t grumble to him about my interfering in cases. Supposedly, he will have his and I will have my own.

Supposedly, Faith said.

Josie stuck her head through the door. Guests are already getting seated. The preacher is here. Stay put in the Florida room until you hear the band playing the wedding march. Jay’s granddaughter is already there with her little brother. Your father will be there by the time you arrive. It’s almost curtain time. She impulsively strode into the room, hugged Faith carefully so as not to muss her dress and strode back out.

The three women straightened their outfits one more time, took deep breaths and left the cozy, inviting room as if they were headed for parts unknown.

Oh, my god! Faith stopped so suddenly in the hallway that the other women almost bumped into her. Everyone seems accounted for but Wade! Josie didn’t say a word about Wade!"

Maybe he skipped town, Liza quipped.

Oleta laughed but Faith didn’t. Her worried expression did not leave until she entered the Florida room where she was assured by her father that Wade and Cousin Billy were dutifully waiting in one of her brother’s old bedrooms. Cousin Billy, his nephew and only relation other than his own immediate family in California, was his best man.

Although Cousin Billy was called ‘Cousin’ Billy because the size of the family was so large, he was cousin to many, but not to Wade. He was the only family member present because of that number. It was more practical for Wade and Faith to end their honeymoon in Taos for a trip to New Mexico’s Clovis area where the entire extended family planned to throw a large party for the newlyweds. This arrangement included Wade’s and Oleta’s daughter Carol, who lived up north in Redding. Her husband’s work schedule as an area manager for a veterinary drug company precluded their attendance today. However, she had met Faith and the Caldwell family but she hadn’t seen the New Mexican relatives since her own wedding and wanted to show off her toddlers to them. Her brother, Richard, was stationed in Germany and not scheduled to return until December when his the army decided his education in linguistics was over.

Oleta slipped away to join Cantrell and Birdie, stopping at tables to greet the mutual friends of Wade’s and Jim’s whom she knew, many eyes on her. She was small but bosomy and quite blonde like Dolly Parton, thanks to Natalie at the beauty parlor.

Birdie, did you call the farm about the delivery? Oleta asked first thing after she sat down.

Yep. The only comment I got from Della was, ‘Are they for dinner?’ I hoped she was joking.’ Della’s real name was Delia but Wade called her Della so everyone else did. She was the cook and general housekeeper Wade had hired after Oleta decamped and had insisted on remaining there with her field superintendent husband to be sure someone was home to welcome them and they didn’t have to lift a hand for anything that evening. But, just in case, I said, ‘No, don’t roast them! They’re not for anyone’s dinner. They’re for showing at the County Fair! I thought of the old joke about the fellow visiting Brazil who wrote a letter to his mother telling her he was sending a rare Amazonian parrot to her. He got a letter back saying, ‘Thank you, son. It was delicious.’

The band started the traditional wedding march. The wedding began.

CHAPTER 2

Faith walked down the aisle, a picture of a happy bride, accompanied by her father. Liza followed and Jay’s grandson, a seven year old, and his sister, four, bore the double wedding bands and carried out their duties, mainly to look adorable. Wade and Cousin Billy stood at the altar waiting for them, looking nervous enough to attract sympathetic smiles from the onlookers. Wade was dressed in his best blue suit, boots and a string tie, but at least had left his Stetson behind. The preacher, a dark haired, slender man in his fifties, captured Oleta’s heart when he ended the ceremony with a heartfelt ‘God bless you both and this marriage’. Amen, thought Oleta, no vestige of unreasoning jealousy remaining at that moment. She reached for Cantrell’s hand, then for Birdie’s. Birdie’s husband, a petroleum engineer, intended to remain home for good when he returned from Saudi Arabia at Christmas. We shall all be happy, she thought.

The first sign of trouble occurred after the initial waltz by the bride and groom (for which non-musical and non-talented Wade had been thoroughly drilled by Faith) and the adults and their children joined them on the portable dance floor where Faith was content to let Wade shuffle self-consciously through a dance or two. Josie want from one table to another, asking in a perplexed voice, Where is Diego?

She had been searching for him since she had left the women. He was nowhere to be found. Finding his truck gone from its usual parking space and wondering if he had fallen asleep at their home in Arvin, she telephoned him on their home phone but received only the message announcement. She tried his cell, but it was turned off. That was unlike Diego, to turn off his cell phone. Her worry deepened. She left to search for him while the food was brought to the serving tables and Jim made an announcement.

Diego isn’t here. He has been busy all morning helping Josie and has gone home to shower and dress while the wine crew readied the barrels for transfer Monday morning to the bottler’s. Perhaps he’s been sampling the wine and lost track of time. Instead of champagne, we are breaking tradition to serve my last year’s cabernet gleanings to toast the bride and groom. The crew has wheeled the cask to the side of the house. Please hold your appetites until Fernando and I go to fetch it. It will be worth the wait. As for the current vintage, we are also celebrating that it has been already sold to a dealer, every barrel of it.

He paused to receive the applause of the guests. Come, Fernando. The guests await.

As the mechanical harvesters could not manage the ends of rows, the grapes were handpicked, sweet and juicy, and the resultant wine reserved for family use on special occasions. This was called the gleanings.

The guests remained seated, speculating with many jests about where Diego could possibly be and chatting with each other until Jim and Fernando returned, wheeling a barrel of wine on a dolly with an X chalked on it. The Caldwell wine barrels were expensive but the oak permitted the right amount of oxygen to be received for proper fermentation and added an ineffable flavor comparable to the best cabernet made in France. The interior of this cask was treated, however, to present further fermentation. The customary six straps held the barrel together while a ‘thieves’ hole’ or bung was installed for tasting. Fernando inserted a regular 5/16" siphon into the bung hole and attempted to draw wine into bottles arrayed beside it for the tables.

There’s an ‘obstrucion’, Mr. Caldwell, he said, pronouncing obstruction in Spanish, looking perplexed.

For god’s sake, Fernando, there can’t be. Let me have a go. Fernando stood aside as Jim took over. What the hell? He said.

Maybe Diego fell in and drowned, called a guest, laughing with the other gusts at his sally, but the crowd fell silent as Jim looked up at him in alarm.

Fernando, fetch a tool box and get the lid off, he said. Let’s see what’s in there. This is crazy! The lid is sealed in wax. Nothing larger than the siphon can get in through the damn bung hole, but the siphon is stuck on something! Everybody eat before the food is spoiled. He signaled to others of his crew seated at tables. Bring up a dozen of the best bottles from the wine cellar while we’re waiting. This is all probably nothing. Let’s get on with the party!

Roberta began assigning tables for occupants to begin lining up for the food cafeteria style with the head table containing the bride and groom and their party first. Everyone relaxed as the festivities resumed except Jay and John were assisting at the bar and the band returned to play unobtrusive dinner music while they ate. Fernando appeared with the tool box and he and Jim commenced to work on the lid of the barrel. The crew members brought back bottles of wine and distributed them amongst the tables.

Jim left Fernando’s side to toast the bride and groom and everyone stood up with their glasses filled to join him.

To the bride and groom, my daughter Faith and good friend, Wade, may their marriage be a long and happy one!

The crowd did not join in drinking the toast but stood facing Jim on the terrace and gasped in disbelief. Women screamed and turned the faces of their children. The band stopped playing. Jim swung around to face the barrel. The top of the barrel was off and a garish purple tinted head had popped up.

Get the damn thing out of here! Jim screamed at Fernando. One of his farm crew ran up to help and he and Fernando hastily wheeled the barrel back towards the winery. A tall, lank figure whose blue suit seemed to hang loose in his stringy frame detached himself from a table and hastened after the barrel, a cellphone in his hand. Cantrell put his glass down and followed after him. Oleta and Birdie restrained themselves. They knew better than to interfere with Cantrell’s activities so blatantly by trailing after him. Oleta wanted him to think she would be a good little wife and not the compulsive snoop she really was.

Josefina will collapse! Roberta wailed. Poor Diego!

Josie needn’t collapse. One thing I’m certain about. That wasn’t Diego! That pudgy round face certainly didn’t belong to anyone like Diego, Jim said.

Who was it? A guest asked.

Damned if I know, Jim confessed. I never saw the guy before in my life! Luke is already on the scene. Mrs. Parker’s, I mean the first Mrs. Parker, her fiancée is a homicide detective. He followed the barrel, too. He reassured his horrified guests. So, I repeat. The police are already on the case. He wasn’t Diego. He was some stranger, maybe a derelict. Don’t spoil my Faith’s special day. Settle down. Eat. Drink. The boys will bring up more bottles. I can’t say pretend it never happened, but there’s nothing we can do about it, ourselves. The police may make you hang around a little longer than you intended, so you might as well relax and enjoy yourselves. After dinner, there’s plenty more booze at the bar and dancing, so it won’t be a boring wait. He didn’t show his worry about Diego being missing and its implications.

The guests began buzzing amongst themselves. The band struck up. Tables were vacated as people again began lining up for the food. Josie showed up to tell Jim and Roberta there was no sign of Diego at home or in the neighborhood. His dress suit was no longer there, laid out for him. He changed his clothes. Where is he? she said, wringing her hands.

God damn it, Josie! This is a hell of a time for Diego to disappear! We found a body in the gleanings barrel and, don’t worry, it wasn’t Diego’s. Maybe he can identify it, explain how it got there. He knows everything that goes on in the wine making rooms. Oh, shit! What a day! He took a kitchen towel from the bar and wiped the perspiration from his face. I ‘m going to sit with the bride and groom and drink a very large tumbler of Jim Beam. I deserve it. I suggest you have a glass of wine and wait. Diego will turn up. The police will be all over the place soon. They’ll search for him.

Cantrell caught up with the three men guiding the barrel into the winery building. You the local fuzz? he asked the tall, slender fellow, introducing himself.

Yeah. Luke Wyler is the name. I know who you are. You’re the famous Oleta Parker’s detective. That tall, dark haired gal with her, hey, is that the McGrath woman, the one who shot the nut who killed people with a skeet gun?

Please don’t draw attention to the fact. She’s still getting over a very traumatic incident. And don’t call Oleta famous. That’ll just encourage her. Let’s concentrate on the body in the barrel.

Look, Detective. I have just a few men qualified as homicide detectives. Our only homicides in the eight years I’ve been chief were the result of cantina fights or domestics also involving alcohol or drugs. No mysteries as to the perp or the victim. We contract with the sheriff’s office if we need help. I already called them. A Kern County sheriff’s homicide investigator named Charlie Ruckman is on his way with the usual personnel.

I know Charlie. He’s a good man. Before he comes, can I have a good look at that barrel?

"Yeah. I can use all the help I can get. How the hell did he get in there? The barrel was new, coated last year after the must process was through and then the wine transferred. It must have been empty then.

What is must?

It’s the mixture of wine, skins and perhaps some additives; different varieties have different processes. I’m not a wine man, myself, so ask Jim or Diego about that. And where the hell is Diego? He’s Jim’s right hand man in the winery, been here forever. He would never miss this wedding.

You sure he’s not the guy in the barrel?

Look at the face. Diego is about five foot ten, all muscle, and swarthy, with a stronger face.

Fernando and his helper stood tensely by the barrel, awaiting instructions.

Released stomach gasses had raised the body when the lid came off. The effect was grotesque with the bloated purple face floating above a sea of red wine. The two detectives allowed them to let the barrel remain near the entrance where it was out of sight of onlookers and sent them gratefully back to the party while they remained to greet the sheriff and his crew.

We’ll need fingerprints from all those known to have touched the barrel. It will be interesting to find out if there are any unknowns on it. The barrels were made in an industrial district close to downtown L.A. That’s about all I know about their history. Of course, then they were handled during shipping. The prints won’t all be local.

I hope the vic can be identified and fast. That will go a long way to understanding what this is all about.

Cantrell, we locals might not know this man, but the murder had to be done here because the barrel was filled here and from the top. I’d put my money on Diego unraveling what happened. This case may not be as complicated as it looks. One thing I know for sure. I don’t want to look at this guy any more. Have you ever come across anything like this before? Wyler asked.

Hell, no, and I hope I never do again. Just seeing the guy makes me want to throw up.

Me, too. I’m not missing that spread on the terrace, that’s for sure.

They both agreed on that.

CHAPTER 3

The party goers did not feel the same repulsion, not after the bride and groom were served and they helped themselves to food and drink as the band played and