Page 8 of The Deadbeat Next Door

“Where are the other properties?” I asked.

“The next one is at the base of the mountain here. And the third one is about fifteen miles back toward Catalpa Creek.

“Then you should just take me home. Catalpa Creek is part of what will draw people to my winery as a destination. These properties are too far from town.”

Marry Ellen didn’t look the least bit put out or surprised. “Okay, let’s head back.”

“Are you sure there’s no one near town who might be looking to sell soon? No one who might be convinced to sell?” I probably should have given up on Catalpa Creek as soon as the deal on the first property fell through, but this town was just the right amount of quaint and modern and it wasn’t too far from skiing, golf, and other Virginia wineries. Plus, I’d still be within driving distance of my family, without being so close that our business ventures crossed or conflicted.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything, but folks around here who have a lot of land tend to keep it in the family.”

“Just keep an ear out.” I’d give it two more weeks. If I didn’t get a lead on a property, I’d have to go back to working for a winery instead of owning my own until I could stockpile some more money.

***

I knocked and stepped to the side, waiting for Norma Jane to open the door. I figured she’d already seen me walking up the walk, but she didn’t move quickly. I’d hit the gym after Mary Ellen dropped me off, had lunch, and then hosted a tasting in my dining room for a group of five women who were touring Virginia vineyards. I might not have a winery or a vineyard, yet, but I had a sweet wine cellar and wine already bottled under my label, thanks to the vineyard where I’d most recently worked. I’d produced three signature wines while I’d worked for them and they now produced the wines for me and allowed me to slap my own label on them. It wasn’t a highly profitable deal for me, yet, but I’d managed to get two of my wines into a couple of the local restaurants, and friends at a couple of the other Virginia wineries had sent some traffic for tastings my way. They told the tourists it was a privilege, a special treat to be able to try my wine before my winery had opened. The tasters who’d visited today were fun, but not big spenders. They’d left with one bottle each.

The door swung open and Norma Jane smiled like my visit was the best thing to have happened to her all year. She was dressed in pressed slacks and a fitted blouse, looking as put-together as she always did. She didn’t dye her hair, and it was a lovely silver, giving away her age when her barely-lined, youthful face would have suggested she was in her fifties and not her seventies. “It is a delight to see you, Cody. Won’t you come in? I got a crumb cake from the grocery store.”

Norma Jane was an admitted disaster in the kitchen, but she picked her baked goods very well from the store. “I would love some crumb cake,” I said. I followed her inside to her cheery kitchen where a pitcher of iced tea and crumb cake sat on the table. Her house was one of the smaller ones on the block, but it had large picture windows and Norma Jane had filled it with treasures from a life-long love of traveling and a life well lived.

I took a seat at her small table and poured iced tea into the glass next to her seat.

She tsked, but smiled. “You are supposed to let the hostess serve her guest.”

“I haven’t forgotten about your arthritis,” I said. “I’m sparing you some pain.” I may have only lived in the neighborhood for a month, but I knew my neighbors better than some I’d grown up next to. She’d had to retire from her job as a seamstress because of her arthritis and she’d made it clear that leaving the workforce had been more painful than the ailment itself.

She placed a piece of crumb cake on the china plate at my seat as I poured myself a glass of tea. It was my first visit to Norma Jane’s but I’d had her tea before, she’d brought me some when I was working in the yard one day, and I knew it’d be sweeter than the cake. I took a small sip and placed it on the table.

Norma Jane didn’t touch her cake or her tea, she leaned forward. “Now, bring some sunshine into an old woman’s life and tell me why you have drunk people coming and going from your house at all hours of the day?”

Knowing Norma Jane’s love for gossip, I wasn’t at all surprised by her question. And I had no problem answering it truthfully. I leaned in. “Because I’ve been hosting tastings out of the house.”

Her eyes widened and she frowned, before she caught herself and made her expression more pleasant. She was clearly disappointed my story wasn’t more scandalous. “Tastings? Like wine?”

“Exactly. One of the selling points of that house was the wine cellar that came with it. I store my wine there and offer tastings in the dining room until I can get a full winery up and running.”

“I’ve been in that wine cellar. Abby did love her wine.” Her smile widened. “And she was very neighborly about sharing.”

“I didn’t know you liked wine. I’ll bring you a couple of bottles.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” she said in a tone that clearly meant, do. “People just walk up to your house and you let them in and give them free wine?”

“I have contacts at other wineries in the area,” I said. “If they have visitors who seem interested in a bit of a drive and an opportunity to try a new wine, they call me and set up an appointment for a tasting. I give them free wine, with the hope they will buy the wine and come back when my winery is up and running.”

“Where will your winery be?”

I leaned back in my seat. “That part hasn’t quite fallen into place the way I’d hoped it would. I’m still looking.”

Her brow creased and she frowned. “And if you can’t find a location?”

I shrugged, pretending more nonchalance than I felt. I didn’t want her to worry about me. I barely knew her, but I liked what I did know. “I’ll move on, find another adorable town in another gorgeous region that needs a destination winery.”

“Hmmm,” she said. “That would be unfortunate.”

“It would,” I said. “Leaving Catalpa Creek is the last thing I want to do.”

Her worried expression eased. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with your neighbor, Carrie Harrison, would it?”

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